


it was fun fun fun when we were laughing

by egaliteoulamort (hockeydyke)



Series: DC 'Verse [1]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Drug Use, M/M, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Other, Sharing Rooms, Summer Vacation, Trans Characters, Washington D.C., tragic backstories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-30
Packaged: 2018-07-26 11:34:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 18,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7572607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hockeydyke/pseuds/egaliteoulamort
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras began to regret agreeing to the Great Big Amis Family Vacation (™) about three songs into the road trip. There was only so much Beyonce he could handle in one sitting.<br/>“Blasphemy!” Courfeyrac spun around in the passenger seat to affix Enjolras with his most severe glare (which wasn’t, in reality, very severe at all) when Enjolras decided to voice this opinion.<br/>“Settle down,” Combeferre warned, seemingly more out of obligation as the driver of the vehicle more than actual expectation that his passengers would relax.</p>
<p>Our merry group of students (and non-students) manage to coordinate a week-long vacation up north to a lake in the Adirondacks to take a break from their regular day-to-day lives in the nation's capital. What follows is a combination of bonding, sunburn, pranks, poorly executed parkour, and some revelations about a certain alcoholic cynic's past.<br/>Completed story is seven chapters. One chapter will be published a day during the week of 7/24!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sunday | Road trippin'

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first installment in my new 'verse, in which Les Amis are living in modern-day Washington, DC. Expect political intrigue, international diplomacy, and monumenting-- but not yet, since this story takes place at a quaint lake in the Adirondacks. All locations visited in the fic are based on actual places!  
> First up: Sunday, or the drive up north from DC. It's more than a 7 hour drive, and honestly, anything can happen in that time.  
> Title is from "5 Years Time" by Noah and the Whale!

            Enjolras began to regret agreeing to the Great Big Amis Family Vacation (™) about three songs into the road trip. There was only so much Beyonce he could handle in one sitting.

            “Blasphemy!” Courfeyrac spun around in the passenger seat to affix Enjolras with his most severe glare (which wasn’t, in reality, very severe at all) when Enjolras decided to voice this opinion.

            “Settle down,” Combeferre warned, seemingly more out of obligation as the driver of the vehicle more than actual expectation that his passengers would relax.

            “Actually, as much as I hate to side with him, this definitely isn’t the playlist we agreed on,” Feuilly took advantage of Courfeyrac’s moment of scandalized overreaction, leaning over Enjolras to grab Courf’s phone and remove it from the aux cord.

            Enjolras bit his lip and stiffened up somewhat as Feuilly rested on his lap. He absolutely despised the heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach that arrived as soon as Feuilly had spoken. Was it just playful banter, or did he really hate to side with Enjolras? Had Enjolras done something to offend him (again)? Did Feuilly resent--

            “Enj. Hey, Enjy. Enj. _Oiga_!”

            “Yeah?” God. Enjolras shook his head to clear it. He needed to stop this whole mild obsession thing.

            “You zoned out there for a minute, _chacho_. Looked all dreamy. Thinking about Robespierre again?”

            “Shut up, Courf.”

            Courfeyrac winked, then turned back to examine the playlist Feuilly had pulled up.

            Enjolras rested his hand on Feuilly’s back while the older man continued to lean toward the passenger seat to show Courfeyrac the mix. Without his permission, his hand began to move in the tiniest of rhythmic circles on Feuilly’s back, working on the taut muscles through the threadbare tshirt Feuilly wore.

            Bahorel snored and Enjolras glanced at him before sighing. They hadn’t even made it to Baltimore yet. This was going to be a long ride.

.

            Chetta was fairly certain that she’d left her babysitting days behind when she moved away from home to go to school in DC. After all-- she was 700 miles from all of her younger siblings and cousins, as well as any other small human she’d ever had the pleasure of watching, feeding, and keeping out of trouble.

            Now, sat in the passenger seat of Jehan’s death trap of a car, she realized she was mistaken. This was not just babysitting. It was much, much worse.

            “Grantaire, I swear to all that’s good on this green earth, if you don’t remove your hand from Joly’s pants right now, I’ll remove it from your body.”

            “Ouch.” Grantaire, thankfully, had the sense to take his hand out from where he’d been groping around. To be fair, Joly had told him to take a look at their cool underwear. It had spaceships printed on. Grantaire was just following directions, and if he attempted a wedgie, well, that was just who he was as a person. Joly was giggling along with it.

      “I think it’d be more accurate to say ‘blue earth.’ Right? Because it's mostly water.” Jehan glanced into the rear view mirror.

      Bossuet had already retrieved his phone, held together by tape and hope, from his cup holder. “Siri, how much of the earth is water?”

      “Siri, how much of the earth is my ass?” Grantaire parroted.

      Chetta sighed. This trip was very rapidly degrading into more of an odyssey than a vacation.

.

_Group message: momchat_

**Chetta:** requesting car change immediately. need to separate R from the boyz.

 **Feuilly:** theres no more room in the van. all of Courfeyrac’s shit is covering the only spare seat

 **Ferre:** Courf wishes to inform you all that “it’s not shit, it's beauty products.”

 **Chetta:** are you texting and driving???

 **Feuilly:** nah, he switched w/ Enj

 **Ferre:** No, Enjolras is.

 **Feuilly:** jinx

 **Chetta:** you've all failed me and i won't forget it

 **Feuilly:** if these are beauty products then y did i just find a lighter in side pocket of the bag???

 **Feuilly:** oh shit

 **Feuilly:** pretty sure Ferre is about to hulk out

 **Feuilly:** he's looking green

 **Feuilly:** if we pull over and don't return, go on without us

.

Eponine would have been pretty damn wasted by now, if it weren’t for the fact that she was due to take over driving from Cosette when they arrived at the next rest stop.

Marius was currently leaning over the console while he shot Cosette the sweetest puppy eyes Eponine had seen him attempt yet. And she’d seen his expression when he watched Cosette dance with R, so that was saying something.

The kid had a pretty set of eyes on him, was all she was saying. It was a perfectly objective statement. Round and bright and kinda prone to getting watery at the drop of a hat. He looked like a damn doe sometimes, with those eyes. Or-- buck? The fuck was a male deer called?

Whatever. The main point: Marius was looking at Cosette like she was the sun, and he, unlike Eponine, had neglected to come prepared with sunglasses.

That wasn’t even just a purely metaphorical statement. The windows of Cosette’s bug weren’t tinted, and Marius was constantly squinting and rubbing at his eyes, now that they’d had the misfortune of driving west slightly, right in the direction of the setting sun. Surprisingly, though, he hadn’t whined about it even once, and simply occupied himself playing with the rings on Cosette’s hand and humming quietly to himself.

Eponine, meanwhile-- well. Years of pickpocketing experience (a fairly hard habit to break) meant that she always had a pair of _gafas_ when she needed them. Currently, she had on  a pair that had begun their life in Courfeyrac’s possession, been retired to a sad life of neglect in the cupholder of Combeferre’s van, and been lovingly rescued by Eponine.

            Ah, fuck it. She might as well try to rest. She dogeared the page she’d left off on in her copy of _Popular Science_ and sprawled out on the backseat, using Cosette’s floral duffle bag as a pillow.

            “Here, _gringo._ ” Eponine took off the sunglasses and tossed them onto Marius’ lap. “I’ma take a nap now, anyway. You can borrow these.”

            “Are you sure?” Marius bit his lips, and god be damned if those soft lips weren’t just as pretty as his eyes.

            “Yeah, I’m sure. They look better on me, but you’ll have to make do. Now shut up. I’m sleeping.”

            The last thing Eponine saw before she closed her eyes was Cosette smiling from behind the wheel. Curse her traitorous heart for fluttering at the sight.

.

They arrived somewhat sooner than expected because they were young and impatient-- meaning, they drove fast. That is-- Jehan’s car always seemed to be speeding about ten miles an hour faster than the others, forcing them to scramble to catch up.

Somehow, the three vehicles managed to stay somewhat close, and Combeferre gently eased his van into the last parking spot in front of the cottage just as the others were exiting their cars.

            Bossuet was the first to tumble out of Jehan’s car and onto the gravel, and Jehan hopped out after him, quickly settling onto the ground himself and examining a few rocks.

            “Oh, sweet earth! I thought I’d never be out of there.” He had just laid down on the gravel when Joly managed to escape the car with their first aid kit, quickly kneeling next to Bossuet to assess the damage.

            Courfeyrac threw himself out of the van the moment it stopped moving, throwing himself almost directly into Jehan while Bossuet reassured Joly and gently scolded them for being less careful with their knees.

            “ _Mano!_ I missed you!” Courfeyrac gave Jehan a tight hug before he pulled out his phone and began to show off the photos he’d taken of both Enjolras and Bahorel asleep in the backseat. The assortment included images of Bahorel slowly shifting from leaning on the windowsill to leaning forward and drooling, as well as the process of Enjolras starting to look grumpier than usual and eventually dropping off into Feuilly’s lap.

            The men in question were finally exiting Combeferre’s van. Enjolras had hastily attempted to tame his bedhead (to no avail) and was rubbing at the angry marks that the denim of Feuilly’s jeans had left on his cheek. For a moment-- one quick, unchecked moment only evident to the most observant of viewers-- he glanced at the door of Jehan’s car to see if a certain someone was seeing him in his display of weakness. Relieved to see that the man in question hadn’t emerged, he turned back to fetch his bags.

            Grantaire, meanwhile, was sleeping better than he had in weeks. Summer hadn’t worked any of its sweet wonders on him. Mostly, it was just the same old business, but with less classes (not that he went to many during the semester, anyway). He went to work, he went to meetings, he went to whatever bars were open and sought out the company of whoever would take him, and a few times a week, he’d crash on the couch of his favorite menage a trois’ apartment and catch some sleep.

            It worked. He was muddling through. He was doing a good job of avoiding anything he knew would knock him off the precarious system he’d assembled for himself.

            Of course, it was a little hard to avoid Anything when he was about to spend a week sharing a cottage with him. It. Ah, fuck. Might as well admit it to himself-- he was fairly certain Enjolras would do something or the other to mess up his emotional well-being by the end of the week. But whatever. Que será, será.

            He was fine for now.

            (Until Musichetta woke him up a few minutes later so he could “stop being a freeloader and carry his stuff into the cottage”)

            (“But, my beauty sleep!”)

            (“You sure as hell need it, but right now we need you to carry your bag”)

            (“I hate this trip”)

.

That evening, there was quite a bit of commotion over sleeping arrangements. Not that they didn’t have enough beds-- they simply had realized that the entire group covered a wide spectrum of unusual sleeping habits.

Feuilly, for example, had some sort of natural internal alarm that made sure he was always awake by 5:30 in the morning. Jehan and Bahorel, on the other hand, would sleep through an apocalypse and still be grumpy if someone woke them up after. As such, Feuilly was relegated to the pull out couch bed in the living room, Jehan and Bahorel were given the bedroom at the end of the hall in their cottage where no one could bother them, and the rest were assigned the rooms in-between. Courfeyrac and Combeferre, the group’s designated sappy couple, claimed the “master bedroom” (the size of a large closet with a queen bed and a dresser). Musichetta, Bossuet, and Joly set up in the mirror master bedroom across the hall. This left two more rooms-- one with a twin and a bunk bed, and the other with just a bunk bed. Eponine, Marius, and Cosette quickly commandeered the former.

This left Enjolras and Grantaire standing at the doorway of the final room, both sharing a deep feeling of dread.

            Enjolras surveyed the flimsy railing on the higher of the beds. “I want the bottom bunk.”

            “Really? Woulda thought you were more of a top guy.”

            Enjolras took a sharp breath, ready to argue, before sighing and chucking his bag onto the lower bunk. For everyone’s sake, it would probably be better if they didn’t start out the rooming arrangement with a fight.

            Combeferre soon appeared in the doorway, reminding them to get to sleep quickly, as the entire group was planning for an early start the next morning, in order to have time to shop in the village before lunch. A few minutes later, Enjolras turned out the light in their room and closed the curtains. Grantaire had gone silent on the bed above, so he retreated to his own bunk and settled in.

           The calm didn't last long.

.

_Group message: les amis de VACAY_

**Enjolras** DID YOU GUYS KNOW THAT GRANTAIRE ISN’T EVEN REGISTERED TO VOTE I’M SO FUCKING ANGRY

 **R:** shhhhhh

 **Jehan:** shut up it’s 2am and i cant sleep with you 2 arguing so loudly

 **Jehan:** normally i’d say “get a room” but clearly that hasn’t stopped you

 **Enjolras:** okay. We’re going to sleep for real now.

.

            Neither slept much.


	2. Monday | Out on the town

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which, despite a rocky start to the morning, our gang visits the quaint tourist town of Old Forge, where Jehan finds a haven and one lucky Pokemon Go player has some really, really good luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Old Forge is a real place! Rainbow Zen is a real place! The diner is a real place! Wow!  
> Remember, updates every day this week!

“Um, okay. This is going on my blog.”

            Enjolras and Grantaire looked up from where they were trying Very Hard to repair the broken lamp in their room to see Courfeyrac giggling at the photo he’d just taken on his phone. Unfortunately, neither of them had technical skills of any sort, and it had been becoming very clear that they would need to call in Feuilly if they wanted to fix it.

            All in all, the first night had gone mostly without any issue. Feuilly woke up at his normal time and prepared a pot of coffee for Combeferre, who’d set his alarm for six so he could be up to keep the other man company. Courfeyrac-- buzzing with excitement about the day’s activities-- followed shortly after. The rest of Les Amis trickled out into the combined kitchen/living room area in the next hour or so to find Feuilly starting breakfast while Courfeyrac and Combeferre sat at the table, heads ducked together, laughing at something on Combeferre’s iPad.

            Everything had been fairly relaxed until the entire group was startled by a large crash from Enjolras and Grantaire’s room.

            “Oh, shit.” Courfeyrac rose to his feet. “I’ll check on them-- if I don’t come back in a minute, assume I’m dead?”

            Combeferre took a sip of his coffee. “We’ll send in a rescue mission if it gets to that.”

            “God bless your soul.” Courfeyrac leant down to kiss Combeferre’s forehead before dashing off to the bedroom, where he found the two culprits standing over a shattered lamp.

            Grantaire was hanging upside down off the top bunk, swinging slowly and blankly staring at the shards. Enjolras, on the other hand, had affixed not the mess, but Grantaire, with a cool glare. Without looking up at Courfeyrac, he grumbled, “Grantaire’s fault.”

.

_Group message: momchat_

**Ferre:** I’m considering switching around the rooming arrangements around.

 **Feuilly:** they might be fine. they both get grumpy when they haven’t slept well.

 **Chetta:** yeah, I had a talk with R last night quick before he went to bed. he says he’s fine with it.

 **Ferre:** Are you sure? Because we’d all understand if he wanted to switch.

 **Feuilly:** yeah, see, it’s possible that R might be trying to prove to himself that he can be close to E like this without having an issue.

 **Cosette:** god, I spend five minutes in the shower and come back to another Issue. I say we let R prove it to himself. That’d be good for him.

 **Ferre:** We’ll leave them for now, then. They’ve both been doing well, from what I’ve seen.

 **Cosette:** yeah, don’t underestimate them. They have more in common than they think. Theyll figure it out.

.

_Group message: les amis de la VACAY!!!_

**Joly:** real talk… how come half the people in this room are texting but im not getting gc updates???

 **Bossuet:** p. sure they have a gc w/out us

 **Jehan:** #conspiracytheoryoftheday

.

            Grantaire didn’t even try to defend himself. He simply grabbed onto the rail of his bunk and swung right-side-up far more gracefully than expected.

            Enjolras’ eyes followed him. Courfeyrac was beginning to suspect that Enjolras’ staring had less to do with the fact that Grantaire had (possibly?) been the source of the mess, and more to do with Grantaire’s lack of a shirt. The room was dim without the light-- dim enough that Courfeyrac, despite having fairly fabulous eyesight, couldn’t make out any details-- but what with how pale Grantaire was, his torso stood out.

            “Fuck off. I’ll clean it up.” Said with more spite and vitriol than Courfeyrac had ever heard from Grantaire.

            “Right, okie dokie, we’ll give you some space.” Courfeyrac grabbed Enjolras by the shirt and dragged him from the room, despite his weak protests. He made sure the door was securely shut on the way out and pulled him into the room that he was sharing with Combeferre.

            “Alright. As much as I want to give you benefit of the doubt, I feel like that was a little more than him just being grumpy from waking up on the wrong side of the bed. What’s up, _pana?”_

“I hate him.”

            “No, you don’t.”

            Enjolras sighed and drew back his arm, winding up for a punch. Courfeyrac lunged forward and grabbed his hand before he could do any damage to it or the innocent wall of the room.

            “Hey, hey, hey. Not doing this here. Do you need to go outside and let off some steam?” Courfeyrac reached for Enjolras’ other fist and kept a firm grip on both.

            Enjolras, embarrassed, looked glumly at the floor. “No. Sorry. I’m good now. Just frustrated.”

            “Clearly. Listen--” Courfeyrac bit his lip, trying to figure out how best to phrase things. Angering Enjolras any more would be fatal. “Was he being a douchecanoe?”

            “He was tossing and turning all night. And his bunk squeaks.”

            Courf sighed and flopped onto the bed, pulling Enjolras along with him. “Maybe he couldn’t help it. Might’ve been in his sleep.”

            “He was humming and mumbling.”

            “I hum in my sleep, Enjy. Hell, I perform entire musical numbers while I’m sleeping. It’s not unusual.”

            “He said my name.”

            “Ah.”

            “Why the fuck was he thinking about me?” Enjolras turned and shoved his face into the pillow. Courfeyrac opened his mouth to warn him about what sort of activities had occurred on top of that very pillow the night before, and then changed his mind.

            “I-- well. That could mean a lot of things. That might be a question to ask Grantaire.”

            “I’m uncomfortable.”

            “Do you want to switch rooms?”

            “No.” Enjolras sat back up, and if Courf had less common sense, he probably would have tried to take another picture to capture Enjolras’ frankly ridiculous bedhead. “Not—not _that_ uncomfortable.”

            “Then I think you two are just going to have to get along for the week. But if you’re feeling-- you know-- violent again, then we’re going to have to talk about it.”

            “‘Kay.” Enjolras bit his lip. “He was making fun of my clothes.”

            Courfeyrac set his phone on the nightstand to prevent himself from snapping the photo. “To be completely fair, it’s kind of hard not to make fun of a guy who has entire outfits with the American flag printed on them.” He nodded at Enjolras’ tank top, which featured an eagle flying over a star spangled background.

            Clearly, this was the wrong thing to say, since Enjolras sprang to his feet and began to pace, hair bouncing again. “That’s exactly the problem! Courf, he’s so-- so flippant about the things we fight for! Every time we talk about democratic freedoms, or making immigration easier, or improving education, or combatting racial crimes-- anything, really-- he’s the first to argue and put them down! He believes that they’re the right thing, sure, but he’s so, so, so fucking complacent that he believes there’s nothing we can do to achieve them!”

            Courfeyrac, who had heard this rant a thousand times before, resisted the oh-so-strong urge to grab for his phone and record it for posterity. Cute guy ranting about political activism? That was sure to get him likes. Violation of his friend’s privacy. Well, yeah.

            “It’s just. Exhausting. He doesn’t know a thing about being grateful for living here in the US where he can fight for these things without being in danger. He doesn’t have an ounce of respect for the ideals we fight for.” Enjolras slammed his fist into his open palm, hard. “He doesn’t appreciate the opportunities he has-- he’s throwing away his education and his health. He’s a-- a fucking waste of good resources who could go to someone who cares.”

            “Hey!” Courfeyrac grabbed Enjolras by the shoulders and gave him a little shake. “Whoa there, _pai._ You want to think about what you just said?”

            Enjolras stared resolutely ahead.

            “You sure you’re the Enjolras I know and love? Because he wouldn’t just call someone a waste. That’s-- that’s real low, Enj.”

            Enjolras ignored the feeling that was back deep within him, hot and embarrassing. The feeling he got after every outburst like that.

            “I know you’re being like this because it’s so personal. But listen-- you don’t know a goddamn thing about Grantaire. You wouldn’t want people to assume things about you, would you?”

            No response.

            “So give him the same respect. You’re being pretty hypocritical here.”

            “I don’t see how I’m being hypocritical.”

            “Just-- you don’t know his life, you know? I know his rants and his work ethic piss you off, but don’t let that alter how you treat him as a human being.”

            The feeling had spread to Enjolras’ chest, and up toward his head. He felt woozy and he let himself collapse onto Courfeyrac, knowing his small frame wouldn’t do anything to squash him. “Fuck, Courf. I’m being an asshole.”

            “Yeah, you kinda are.”

            “I’m sorry.”

            “I’m not the one you need to be apologizing to. Just, be nice to him, okay? He instigates you for attention. We’ve discussed that. Don’t let it get to you.”

            “Right.”

            “Let’s go get breakfast, okay? You always act like less of an ass when you’re not hungry.”

            “Fuck off.”

            “Love you too, bro.”

.

            The group proceeded to the tourist town of Old Forge, where an uneasy peace between Enjolras and Grantaire lasted all of two hours-- at which point Grantaire began to flirt with the girl at the cash register at one of the souvenir shops.

            Enjolras wasn’t quite sure why he was so angry about it. He went with the excuse that Grantaire’s stalling was making them late for lunch at the diner where they were supposed to meet up with the others. Granted, he could have just left the store and gone to meet them, since Grantaire was an adult capable of walking down the street by himself, but. He was angry. His mind wasn’t exactly being the best source of reason.

            “Grantaire, I swear to god, just hurry it up. We haven’t got all day.”

            “Calm down, Antinous.”

            “That’s a new one.”

            “I’m trying out some mortals. He was one of Hadrian’s lovers.”

            “Wasn’t Hadrian a Roman—” Enjolras froze and glared. “Stop distracting me!”

            Grantaire smirked, then turned back to the girl while Enjolras spoke, completely ignoring him in favor of speaking to the girl about the book he was buying.

            Enjolras froze, blood running warm. Hot. Boiling. Was Grantaire really ignoring him? Sure, he’d him to stop, but that had never worked in the past.

If this had happened to him as a teenager, he would have punched Grantaire at that moment. But he wasn't seventeen anymore. He was older and wiser and he had Zumba and Cardio Kickboxing as an outlet for his physical anger now, and he recognized that punching friends wasn’t healthy behavior.

As it was, he was running out of options, so he turned and left the store, letting the door slam shut behind him.

Grantaire flinched at the noise.

“Boyfriend?” The girl asked. Grantaire shook his head, so she decided not to question it further. “You were saying this is a gift for someone?” She held up the paper bag she had just placed the book in.

“Yeah. Him, actually. His birthday is next month.”

She nodded, deciding that this was far too complicated a situation for her to meddle in. “Have a nice day, sir.” She ducked into the backroom before he could answer.

Grantaire took his bag and left.

.

_Group message: les amis de la VACAY!!!_

**Marius:** hey everyone i just caught a Rattatta!!! I’m so excited he’s so cute!!!

 **R:** that’s like the most common one bro

 **Marius:** really?? This is my first one

 **R:** yeah i get 5-10 a day back home. i have an army of about 250 and theyre all named after Enjolras

 **Marius:** huh

 **Marius:** the only ones I have a lot of are Snorlax and Rapidash and Pikachu

 **R:** whAT THE FUCK

.

            Meanwhile, Jehan had died and ascended into heaven. Or been reincarnated into a better form-- he was a bit foggy on the whole afterlife thing.

            At least, that’s what it felt like. He’d been absolutely fascinated by every quaint little shop the group had passed so far, from the general store to the various antique shops scattered along the main street of the village. For someone who’d grown up in a middle of nowhere one light town with no attractions other than a liquor store and a decent river for fishing, Old Forge was a haven. All the cute, homey small town feels without the actual realistic small town rednecks.

            Jehan had never seen so many souvenir shops together in his life-- and he lived in DC, so that was saying something. He wanted to buy every cheap Adirondack knickknack that he could get his hands on.

            He’d come out of a shop with a bag full of cute bumper stickers for his car when he saw the most amazing thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

            Nestled between two other small buildings, with a brightly colored sign proclaiming its name: “Rainbow Zen.”

            Jehan squealed. From behind him, he could practically hear Eponine roll her eyes.

            “Are you kidding me? I haven’t even gone in, and it reeks of cultural appropriation.”

            Jehan, meanwhile, had disappeared into the store.

            Eponine jumped slightly as Cosette threw her arm around the Eponine’s shoulder. When Eponine glanced back, she saw that her other arm was around Marius’ waist. She tensed, but didn’t shrug away from the contact. Which-- which was weird. She was willing to admit that.

            “Come on, ‘Ponine. Let him have this. We can go get lunch.”

            “I want ice cream.”

            “Let’s get ice cream, then. I’m not gonna tell anyone if we have dessert first.”

            Eponine grinned. See, she knew there was a reason she’d agreed to come on this trip.

            In the store, Jehan didn’t even know what to examine first. Tie dyed shirts hung from every wall and dreamcatchers dangled from the ceiling. The counters were cluttered with bracelets and mood rings and all sorts of jewelry; one wall had a display of various masks, while another was covered in shelves of Buddha statues. The entire building reeked of incense and, behind that scent, weed.

            “Everything’s handcrafted, for the most part.”

            Jehan jumped, unaware that the woman behind the counter had been watching him. “These too?” He pointed at the ceiling.

            “Yeah, all made by Indigenous artisans! I travel a lot to buy things for the store. From all over the world.”

            Jehan’s entire face lit up and he stepped over a display to make his way to the counter. “Okay, hi, I’m about to try to buy everything in this store.”

.

            “Hey, there he is!” Bahorel made a particularly disruptive show of standing and waving Grantaire over to their booth in the diner the group had agreed on for lunch. The Amis managed to take up three entire booths, to the dismay of the waitress on duty.

      Thankfully, although Grantaire was the last to arrive, Musichetta, Joly, and Bossuet had been determined to sit on the same side of one of the booths together (despite the fact that Bossuet had already fallen off the end several times), while Bahorel sat across from them and set his purse next to himself to save the plate for Grantaire.

“I was just starting to worry that we’d lost our only son,” Bossuet slid his menu over to Grantaire.

“See, I told you that he's still too young to go out without a babysitter!” Joly darted out a hand to steal Musichetta’s milkshake and took a sip. “Maybe in a few years he’ll be more independent.”

“I swear to fuck. I'm older than both of you.” Grantaire flipped over the menu, noticeably brightening when he found the drink menu.

This did not escape Musichetta’s attention. “R, I thought we agreed that I’d play bartender tonight and mix some drinks if you stayed sober until then.”

Grantaire scowled. “But, mom!”

“Oh, now he’ll play along with the happy family game! I spot a hypocrite!” Bahorel elbowed Grantaire, and the booth soon dissolved into a mess of laughing and shoving.

            The rest of lunch went surprisingly well. Grantaire found that despite his reservations about going on the vacation, he was actually enjoying himself so far.

            (That didn’t stop him from sticking out his leg to trip Enjolras as he passed by Grantaire’s booth, however)

            (Fuck him)

            (It was really cute when he glared at R after)

            (He was so, so fucked)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember how obsessed Enjolras is with Patria? I tried my best to translate that over to an American setting. His family immigrated here from Venezuela when he was a kid (which isn't a huge plot point in this fic, but may be in future installments of this series) and he's taking full advantage of freedom of speech and everything. He's very much aware of the nation's issues, but also very enthusiastic about fixing them.  
> Spanish translations  
> Pana: Venezuelan slang for "pal." Courf is not Venezuelan but Enjolras is, so it's safe to say he picked up the phrase from Enjolras' family.  
> Pai: short for papi. I swear Courf isn't calling Enjolras dad-- it's just a "term of endearment for males."  
> Corrections to my translations are always welcome!


	3. Tuesday | Feuilly & Bahorel's big adventure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Today's episode features a lake, some more Spanish, the momchat group message, and an impressive prank. Do not try at home!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (All Spanish translations and other comments are in the notes at the end of the chapter!)

On Tuesday morning, Grantaire was awake for all of ten minutes before he lost the last of his pocket change to the jars that Courfeyrac and Joly had lovingly arranged on the countertop behind the sink.

Ten cents in the swear jar, a nickel in the self pity jar, and a quarter in the cigarette jar.

(Grantaire had long since given up on trying to understand the pricing system of the jars. He simply resigned himself to keeping coins on his person and coughing them up whenever the others would shout at him to deposit a dime or a penny)

(However, he still hadn’t given up his quest to fight the swear jar. “I'm the only one who ever gets told to put into the swear jar!” He’d argue. “Cough up the fucking quarter,” Joly would respond, while Courfeyrac nodded approvingly)

(“Fuck that noise,” Grantaire would say)

(There was a reason he never had any spare change)

While Grantaire was distributing his lost savings into the jars, Joly had made their way to the window and balanced precariously on the edge of the couch to see outside. “Sun’s finally out!”

“Oh, thank _god.”_ Eponine’s voice was barely coherent from the bathroom, the door to which was located right next to the couch. “I was beginning to think we might finish this vacation with no sunburn incidents. Silly me, thinking we could do that.”

She was silent for a moment. Then came a loud crash and very creative swearing. “Fuck, who left their curling iron in here? Who the shitting fuck even uses a curling iron? _Maldita sea la madre que te parió!”_

The three amis in the living area shared a glance that seemed to convey the idea that it would be best not to provoke Eponine further. Joly was the first to break the uneasy quiet. “So, I guess it’ll be a good day for swimming, eh?”

Grantaire threw up his arms. “Fuck, how come we don’t have a Canadian jar? We could make them pay for every ‘eh!’”

“Damn, I wish we had a rhyme jar, R.” Joly froze. “Oh, shit!”

“Okay, let’s just agree to never have a rhyme jar.” Courfeyrac picked up the swear jar and held it out to Grantaire.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Out of everyone in this room, you target me? I don’t have the dirtiest mouth here at all.” He nodded in the direction of the bathroom, where Eponine was still grumbling while she finished brushing her teeth.

Courfeyrac smirked. “Bet that’s not what Enjolras said last night.”

Time slowed for a moment.

Grantaire shoved Courfeyrac’s arm aside and strode past him. A moment later, he had disappeared into his room, the door slammed shut behind him.

Courfeyrac slid down into one of the chairs around the table in the kitchen area, resting his head in his hands, while Joly carefully made their way off the couch and over to lean against the counter.

“That was mean.” Joly began to fill a glass with water from the tap.

“I know. Shit. I have a worse filter than Enjolras, sometime. I just thought it’d be funny.”

“I mean, I get where you were coming from, but. It’s a really sore spot for him. It’s a big crush. I’m kinda sick of everyone using it as the punchline of every joke.”

Courfeyrac gave a halfhearted shrug. He knew he was guilty of some of those jokes. Then again, he knew Enjolras better than Joly did. Joly surely hadn’t heard Enjolras go on about Grantaire for hours on end-- and he especially hadn’t heard any of the most recent rants, which had devolved into subtopics such as “his goddamn hair” and “his stupid, stupid eyes.” The long and short of it was, Courfeyrac was beginning to have certain Ideas about the Enjolras/Grantaire situation.

But that was their own business, as Combeferre had been reminding Courfeyrac.

“I’m sorry. I’m gonna go apologize to him.”

“Good.” Joly blew Courfeyrac a kiss. “I’m gonna get my bathing suit on!”

.

Bahorel was somehow the first of the group to make it from the cottage down to the lakeshore, and Feuilly soon joined him next to the water.

“Hey, Fe-bee.”

“Hey, Babe-horel.”

Bahorel stuck out his tongue. “Nah, dude. Too much. No homo. Tone it down, A-bro-ham Lincoln.”

Feuilly tossed his towel and the book he’d brought onto an Adirondack chair, then straightened up and assumed a deeper, exaggeratedly pompous voice. “Four score and seven years a-bro.”

“Dude.”

“Bro.”

Feuilly grinned. “I could keep going.”

“I have no doubt you could, you absolute genius. But we’ve got work to do.” Bahorel began to stretch.

 

.

“Last night was fine. Just.”

Courfeyrac waited, then sighed. He had apologized to Grantaire (who had made up with him fairly quickly and proceeded to follow Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta to their car to retrieve some pool toys before they went down to the beach) and finished packing his bag of towels and snacks. He now turned to give Combeferre his best ‘help-me-I’m-suffering” looks.

Combeferre, thankfully, intervened to his rescue. “Enj, you're going to need to elaborate a bit.”

“I was going to!” Enjolras finished tugging on his swim shirt, then paused in front of the window to glance at his reflection. He couldn't help but grin. A fairly vocal part of his brain suggested that he just go down to the lake sans shirt, but he’d already decided that he wouldn't that day. Although Feuilly had never directly said anything about it to him, Enjolras felt like going shirtless was rubbing his financial prosperity in Feuilly’s face. Feuilly had been saving up for top surgery for years; Enjolras had had it before freshman year of college. So. At least for today, he was fine with his swim shirt.

“Enjy!” Courf had tossed a towel over Enjolras’ head. “You zoned out.”

“Sorry.” Enjolras slipped on his sandals. “What I meant is, he's distracting.”

Courfeyrac and Combeferre shared the suffering look this time. “Distracting in what way?” Combeferre asked, gently.

“Because he's so close, I guess. I try to sleep and I can't stop thinking about him. Last night he started snoring and my head just kind of played out the memory of when we had World Politics together last fall.”

“The one he failed?” Courfeyrac prompted, although there was no question about it-- he knew very well which class it was. He’d heard the story constantly for weeks.

“Yeah! He showed up to every class all semester-- which is a lot, for him. He participated in every discussion. It was like he actually gave a shit. And then, two weeks before our final paper was due, he stops coming. And he doesn't come back until the class before it’s due-- and he asks me if we have a final assignment. If we have one! It’d been on the syllabus all semester. So I showed him the syllabus, and he says--”

At this point, Courfeyrac turned to Combeferre to mouth the words as Enjolras had repeated them several times already.

“He says, ‘well, I’d rather not turn in anything at all than get started this late.’” Enjolras finished, exiting the cottage and holding the door open for the other two. “He just wasted an entire semester and didn't even try!”

“And that's still keeping you up at night?” Courfeyrac grabbed Combeferre’s hand and swung it while they walked down to the lakeshore.

.

“So, what do you think?”

“I think that's the stupidest idea I've heard all week.” Feuilly shook his head and gave Bahorel his best approximation of a scolding expression, but couldn’t keep the grin off his face.

“So you're in?” Bahorel asked.

“Course I am. This is gonna be hilarious. We just need to get everything quickly before they all come out here.”

“One step ahead of you, bro.” Bahorel waved across the beach, bringing Feuilly’s attention to the collection of beach toys and duct tape he’d assembled.

“Let's get to work, then.” Feuilly removed his hearing aids and tucked them safely under his book, folded up in the towel. Better not to risk getting them wet, or god forbid, losing them.

.

_Group message: les amis de VACAY_

**Jehan:** where tf is Rel??? He left his towel in our room

 **Cosette:** yeah, and he left his goggles in the kitchen

 **Joly:** and his floaties on the couch!!!

 **Marius:** uh those are mine

 **Joly:** oh whoops haha sorry

 **Marius:** :-(

 **R:** have no fear, Pontmercy! ur not the only bro who can't swim

 **Marius:** Who else?

 **R:** me, my friend! ill accompany you into the shallows, but go no farther

 **R:** further?

 **R:** fuck English

.

“Yes, exactly! I don't understand him!” He's--” Enjolras cut off when he noticed Combeferre nodding pointedly to the beach, where Grantaire was sprawled out on a sea of towels and lawn chairs with the others. He glanced at Courfeyrac, then resumed. _“Él es perezoso, egoísta, y molesto.”_

“E, hold up.” Courfeyrac shot Combeferre a look, and the Combeferre quickly stepped ahead of the other two, starting to talk rapidly to the amis on the beach about how he’d printed out star maps in case anyone wanted to look at the sky later that night.

This did nothing to distract Grantaire, who was staring directly at Enjolras.

“ _Chamo, no entiendes. Sólo deseo que pudiera actuar como le importaba.”_

“ _Pai, hablemos sobre otra cosa.”_ Courfeyrac interrupted before Enjolras could go any further.

This, finally, snapped Enjolras out of his rant. He looked up and made eye contact with Grantaire, and found the other man staring at him-- not quite blank, but not expressive, either. Aware, but devoid of emotion. Enjolras felt his blood run cold when he remembered he’d once walked into the lounge of his sophomore year dorm to find Grantaire speaking with Eponine in Spanish.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” The look of disapproval on Courfeyrac’s face stung more than Enjolras cared to admit.

Enjolras flushed and set his towel as far away from Grantaire as he could. It was beginning to look like there was no end to the list of things he could fuck up during this vacation.

.

After the initial sting of warm embarrassment about messing up around Grantaire yet again wore off, Enjolras was feeling pretty good. The sun was heavy on his skin, but a cool breeze was blowing in from the lake. He felt an odd sense of déjà vu. If he closed his eyes, he could almost convince himself that he was sitting at the edge of the ocean at a beach he’d visited as a child. Of course, the illusion was ruined by the lack of saltiness in the air, and a slight difference in the feel of the wind, but still. He felt young and alive and warm.

He was stirred out of his reverie by his phone buzzing in his pocket. He blinked lazily, then unlocked it. A message from the internship he was starting when they got back to DC. Just a confirmation of the time his shift started-- nothing that needed a response.

On a whim, he closed out of the mail app and opened up Instagram. He swiped to his own account and sure enough, he hadn't posted anything since his photos of the gun law sit-in from June.

He switched to the camera and stood, quickly focusing and snapping a photo of the entire group, partially occupying the beach, and a few in the background in the water. Feuilly and Bahorel were still MIA, but he figured he could get a photo of the two of them later. His account could always use some more individualized Feuilly attention.

Contrary to popular belief, he did understand the concept of filtering, and applied one after he’d brightened the photo. Then he went through the arduous task of tagging everyone. Finally, caption: “life wouldn't be worth it without the people, and these are mine.” Posted.

Within seconds, he heard a yelp from where Courfeyrac was nested in a pile of towels. “Enj! ‘Mine?’ I didn't know you had that sort of possessive streak in you!”

Combeferre snorted. “Really?” He raised a brow.

Courfeyrac shrugged. “Okay, fine, I did know that he's a possessive little shit. But still--”  
            He was interrupted as all hell broke loose.

.

“SEA MONSTER!” Marius screamed, desperately scrambling onto the dock. Unfortunately, the arm floaties were his downfall, and instead of saving him this time they simply knocked into the side of the dock, causing him to lose his grip and slide back into the water. By this point, he was babbling incoherently.

“Hey, Mar, hold still for a sec.” Thankfully, Cosette had come to the rescue and hauled him out fairly quickly.

However, Joly and Bossuet were distracted enough by this spectacle that they failed to notice the Sea Monster preparing for attack. Bossuet screeched as its long neck crested above the water and a rubbery flipper enveloped him. He disappeared under the water.

Joly bellowed before throwing themself onto the beast, kicking and scratching at its sides. They remembered something they’d read about bopping a shark on the nose to get it to stop attacking, but this thing clearly wasn’t a shark.

In fact, they thought as they screeched more and scratched at its sides, its strange, noodly neck didn’t resemble any sort of known lake wildlife at all. Nor did its bright orange head. And--

Their thoughts were cut off as they were dragged underwater and into the beast.

.

            Up until that point, Musichetta had been ignoring the antics of her datemates. After all, they were big kids and could (usually) get out of trouble with no problem. However, when the second disappeared underwater, she finally stood and took a look, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hand. _“_ Hell _.”_

            “Ah, shit. Looks like you lost all of your backup dancers.” Grantaire stood beside her.

            “Yeah, and to think I started out today with a spare.”

            They watched as Jehan frantically tried to wade to shore, the flock of ducks he’d been trying to assimilate with totally forgotten. Courfeyrac, meanwhile, had taken the shenanigans as a wonderful opportunity to rip off his shirt, check quickly to make sure that Combeferre was watching, and dive off the dock and into the water to attack the sea monster while it chased Jehan.

            Cosette and Eponine had managed to drag Marius to the grassy area at the end of the dock and he was babbling about _the Loch Ness monster_ and _maybe a Kraken!_

            Several kids on nearby sections of beach were screaming. Musichetta and Combeferre shared a look.

            “Alright.” Musichetta dropped the sundress she had over her bathing suit (no use in getting it wet) and strode out onto the dock. She took advantage of her height and long arms to reach for the ‘neck’ of the ‘monster’ and tugged the entire thing out of the water to reveal Feuilly and Bahorel holding pool noodles to trap the others.

            “Oh, hey! Pretty wild, the people you run into at the beach.” Bahorel grinned.

            Simultaneously, Joly and Bossuet managed to stop giggling and sputtering water to shout variations of “Chetta! Our hero!”

            Feuilly, at least, had the decency to look sheepish.

            “Anyway, can we have our sea monster suit back?” Bahorel attempted to grab for the contraption and Musichetta dragged it up onto the dock to keep it away from him. The entire thing was constructed from various water toys: the body was an inflatable raft turned upside down so that everyone could swim with their heads above water under it to be hidden. Rubber flippers were taped to its sides and its neck was made up of several pool noodles and a mini traffic cone taped on the end to give the appearance of a snout.

            “No, you cannot.” Musichetta glanced behind her shoulder as the deck darkened with another shadow behind her.

            Combeferre had arrived. “Get the fuck out of the water,” he said, signing his words as well for Feuilly’s sake.

            Feuilly and Bahorel wasted no time pulling themselves onto the dock, both finally starting to look a bit self-conscious.

            “So, let’s review. That was the most immature thing I’ve seen all week, and that’s saying something. Not only did you scare the hell out of Marius, who can’t swim, by the way, but you also--”

            While Combeferre’s rant continued, Courfeyrac had quickly dragged Jehan to shore, only taking a moment to deposit him onto the towels. “Alright, I gotta go listen to this! Looks like dad’s mad at the kids.”

            “Don’t call your boyfriend dad!” Grantaire shouted after him.

            “Don’t kinkshame him, you soggy piece of bread!” Jehan laughed and shook his hair in Grantaire’s direction.

Enjolras finally stood. “He doesn’t mean it like that.”

Grantaire started a bit when Enjolras spoke. “Doesn’t mean I can’t make fun of it, though.”

            Enjolras, surprisingly, just shrugged.

            Musichetta dragged the creation back to the grass while Combeferre continued his lecture.

            “And Feuilly-- I’m not mad. Just disappointed.” By this point, the scolding was more of a show than any real resentment, and Feuilly and Bahorel had picked up on this. Both were pouting up a storm, and each interrupted frequently to throw the other under the bus, so to speak.

            Eventually, however, the joke had been exhausted, and everyone returned to their places on the beach. Once everyone was distracted, Combeferre stowed the beast away behind the cottage, then returned to his book and his phone.

.

_Group message: momchat_

**_Ferre_ ** _has removed **Feuilly** from the group._

.

            That night, Grantaire gave up trying to sleep around two in the morning. He submitted to the wishes of his twitching hands and restless legs and managed to climb down from his bunk without making too much noise.

            He didn’t notice Enjolras peeking out of his sleeping bag to watch him leave the room.

            He’d made it to the fridge and pulled out a beer before he noticed Combeferre sitting at the round table next to the shabby kitchen area. He was sitting with his tablet, wearing his glasses rather than the contacts he’d been using more often recently, and looked somewhat like a deer caught in the headlights.

            “Hi,” he said, somewhat sheepishly, keeping his voice low so as not to wake up Feuilly, who was sprawled out on the sofa bed on the far side of the room.

            “Hi, Ferre.”

            “I thought you were Courf coming to make me go to bed.” He twirled his earbuds. “He already mothered me for about an hour because I got sunburnt. I need a break to suffer in peace.”

            “Nah. Can’t sleep. And I mean, I get what you were doing, testing out different sunscreen brands for science, but like-- did you have to leave your entire face as the control example? Like, you could have used the part of your legs covered up by your swim shorts as the control.”

            “Shit. Good point.” He yawned. “Either way, it’s too itchy for me to fall asleep. Wanna watch _Star Trek_ with me?”

            “Yeah.”

            Grantaire slid into the chair next to Combeferre and took the earbud he offered, quickly getting into the episode playing on Combeferre’s tablet. They stayed there until Combeferre fell asleep and Grantaire tossed a blanket on him before leaving the cottage to walk along the woods across the road until the sun rose.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't the last we'll see of Grantaire's linguistic abilities!  
> Speaking of Grantaire: I wrote him and Enjolras into a World Politics class because I figured it could potentially be a requirement for Enjolras' major (Justice & Law, which he's taking because he's on a pre-law track), and a gen ed fulfillment for Grantaire (who's an art related major and dance minor). Coincidentally, I am also taking World Politics this fall semester, and due to some scheduling conflicts, I've had a hell of a time with the class before I've even started. Of course, if you're following me on tumblr, you've probably already heard about all my college woes. If you're not following me? Head on over! I'm @egaliteoulamort, same username as here! Besides les mis stuff, I reblog a lot of Marvel, Star Trek, Raven Cycle, TSOA, and current events.  
> Anyway, here are the Spanish translations you came here for:  
> Maldita sea la madre que te parió: something the along the lines of "damn your mother." A slightly elaborate exclamation.  
> Él es perezoso, egoísta, y molesto: "He is lazy, selfish, and annoying."  
> Chamo, no entiendes. Sólo deseo que pudiera actuar como le importaba: "Chamo" is Venezuelan slang for "boy," but it's used more like "dude." So, "dude, you don't understand. I just wish that he could act like he cared."  
> Pai, hablemos sobre otra cosa: "Bro, let's talk about something else." Courf is letting Enjolras know that R understands their conversation. Oops. Nice going, Enjolras.  
> As always, corrections to my translations are welcome!


	4. Wednesday | The Hike

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We join our group of activists as they attempt a hike up a mountain, and make plenty of mistakes along the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, the mountain is based off a real place in the Adirondacks. Could I tell you what the name of the mountain is? Uh. No. I honestly don't remember. I'll get back to all of you on that.  
> Translations and other comments are, as usual, in the notes at the end of the chapter!

            Courfeyrac woke up early that morning and did a little dance to congratulate himself on his third day of waking up early. Truly an impressive feat-- it meant maybe he actually had a chance of returning to a decent sleep schedule before the group headed back to DC. He had to be ready for early mornings since he was one of the upperclassman mentors at the university’s freshman orientations. He was thrilled to have the job, but god-- he was going to need a lot of coffee.

            So at seven in the morning he sat up and stretched, only to find that his boyfriend wasn’t anywhere to be found. He first checked under all the blankets, just to make sure that he hadn’t misplaced Combeferre in them. Then he rolled to the other side of the bed and peeked at the floor, to no avail.

            _Mierda._ And to think he’d believed for a second that he’d been the first one awake. He struggled to untangle himself from the sheets and stretched out, listening to something in his back pop. He wasn’t sure if that was healthy or not, but it felt good, so he didn’t care.

            He left the wood-paneled room and padded out into the small kitchen area to find Combeferre snoring with his head resting on the table, a blanket draped over his shoulders.

            Courfeyrac grinned and ruffled Combeferre’s hair, dropped a kiss on the top of his head, and headed to the bathroom, careful to tiptoe past the couch where Feuilly was sprawled out, still asleep. His blanket was shoved to the other end of the couch, kicked off in the middle of the night.

            Shaking his head and smiling at this too, Courfeyrac shut himself into the tiny bathroom to take a shower in the god-awful tiny excuse for a shower. It reminded him more of a soggy closet-- and he had no desire to ever be in the closet again, so it was definitely a hassle. He only spent about five minutes washing his hair, which might have been a record for him. But, seriously. He couldn’t stand there in the tepid water any longer.

            When he had finished he wrapped up in the fluffiest towel he’d packed and went to work simultaneously brushing his teeth and drying his hair-- a very, very special skill he’d perfected his first year of college, when he’d had several 8AM classes.

            He was checking to make sure his hair was completely dry when his phone buzzed loudly from where he’d set it on the closed toilet seat, resulting in him jumping a foot in the air and squeaking. Christ-- he was lucky he hadn’t hit his head. Not bothering to pick up the phone, he wrapped a towel around his waist and wiped his hand on it to dry it off before he opened the door and stepped out of the bathroom.

            A quick glance around the room. No one had woken up during his shower, thankfully. Heavy sleepers, then-- maybe that meant he could get away with singing in the shower without waking them up. He’d try tomorrow.

            He shook his head. Gosh, distracted already. No wonder he needed five alarms on his phone every morning to remind him to take his meds. He quickly located his bottles on the counter of the kitchenette and took them with a glass of orange juice.

            Seven-thirty, and ‘Ferre was still asleep. Poor thing-- must have had a late night, Courfeyrac decided. He’d been struggling with sleeping lately. On the one hand, Courfeyrac wished Combeferre would wake him up to keep him company while he tried to pass the night. On the other hand, he knew that he wasn’t very good company at three in the morning. If he wasn’t buzzed from partying, he had a tendency of falling asleep anywhere and everywhere at that point in the night. Even in the middle of conversations, sometimes.

            Courfeyrac set down his drained glass of orange juice, realizing that he’d been leaning on the counter and staring at Combeferre for several minutes. He yawned and started up a pot of coffee before returning to the bathroom, leaving the door open so he could peek out across the room at Combeferre, and plugged in his curling iron.

            He was halfway through curling his hair when he heard a throat clear.

            For the second time that morning, he jumped about a foot into the air, nearly burning his forehead in the process. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” He turned to see Feuilly standing in the open doorway, watching him.

            “You curl your hair?”

            _“Vete a la mierda.”_

            “That doesn’t sound nice.”

            “Warn a guy before you sneak up on him.” Courfeyrac stuck his tongue out at Feuilly.

            “But you do curl it. God, the mystery of whose curling iron that is, solved. I’m glad I didn’t take Bahorel up on his bet about who it belongs to.”

            “Who’d you think brought it?”

            “Enjolras, for sure.”

            “Nah-- you ever met his mother? She’s got curly hair too.”

            Feuilly reached over Courfeyrac to grab his own toothbrush. “I’ve never met anyone in his family.”

            “I’m sure he’d be glad to introduce you.”

            “And I’m sure they wouldn’t approve of me. Don’t seem to like people who aren’t in their circle. Didn’t they give him shit when he brought Bahorel to Christmas last year?”

            “Well-- true. But that’s mostly because Bahorel was pretending to be Enjolras’ boyfriend and purposely acting as rude as possible. To piss them off.”

            “Okay, true. I’ve heard the story.”

            Courfeyrac began to curl the last portion of this hair-- the back part that was hard to get evenly. “They’re getting better, though. About Enjolras. Which-- well, they should have been okay with him in the first place, but we all know parents suck.”

For the tiniest millisecond, Feuilly cringed.

Courfeyrac decided to change the subject, ASAP. “So I’m really glad they’re coming around. Do you want any coffee? I started a pot.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

“Also, if you ever tell anyone I curl my hair, you’re dead.”

“Got it. How come you do it?”

“It gives me a special brand of boyish charm.” Courfeyrac winked.

Feuilly grinned back. “Of course. Now, I have some coffee to inhale.” Before he closed the door, he glanced at the curling iron one more time. “And a secret to decide what to do with.”

Courfeyrac sighed as the door shut. His friends would be the death of his reputation.

.

            “This vacation sucks!” Grantaire had barely made it in the door when he tossed his phone onto the table. Enjolras scrambled to catch it and keep it from sliding into his mug of coffee.

            “Sorry?”

            “There’s no fucking Pokemon around here!”

            Jehan held a bagel out to Grantaire, who ignored it in favor of pacing in front of the table, brushing against Enjolras’ chair every time he passed it. Enjolras frowned. Grantaire had been gone all night, doing god knows what. He hated to admit it, but he’d worried about Grantaire getting eaten by a bear or something. Or getting cold. And yet, here he was, without any explanation about where he’d been overnight.

            “Actually, I got a Magikarp down by the lake.” Jehan tried to shove the bagel at Grantaire again.

            Grantaire once again refused it in favor of pulling out the chair across from Enjolras and plopping down. He leaned back and forth in his seat and tapped his fingers against the table, bouncing slightly.

            Enjolras finally met his eyes.

            “Jesus Christ, are you high?”

            Grantaire smirked. His pupils were blown wide.

            “Do I even want to know what you’re on?”

            “Nah.”

            “I’m pretty sure we agreed that this was a substance-free trip.”

            Grantaire pointed to where Jehan was humming to himself as he spread jam on a bagel. “And Prouvaire here was smoking weed with Combeferre Monday night.”

“Traitor!” Jehan chucked the bagel at the side of Grantaire’s head. The bagel fell to the floor and rolled under the table.

Undeterred, Grantaire continued. “Also, like, we’ve all been drinking. Literally all of us. Mostly.”

            “That was part of the agreement-- drinking was fine.” Enjolras scowled, and in his usual fashion, didn’t filter himself at all. “Because we didn’t want to deal with you going into withdrawal.”

            Grantaire shrugged and picked up the bagel, taking a bite. “What can I say? Looks like you can thank me for anyone having any fun at all on this trip.”

            “Not all of us need to be smashed to have fun.” Enjolras’ voice was stone cold, and yet it burned. Grantaire smiled to himself. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Courfeyrac had come to stand next to Jehan to watch the fight.

            “Eh, you could have fooled me.”

            Enjolras huffed. “You’re trying to distract me. You broke one of the few rules we set.”

            “Honestly, who the fuck are you to tell me what to do? I’m an adult.”

            “You don’t act like one!”

            Grantaire, who had been about to stick his tongue out at Enjolras, reconsidered. “I mean, true.” He stood. “What are we doing today?”

            Courfeyrac cleared his throat. “Hiking up a mountain nearby.”

            “Fantastic.” Grantaire patted Enjolras on the shoulder, grinning at the glare Enjolras shot him. He was just too fucking easy to anger. “I’m gonna get changed, then.”

            He disappeared into the hallway.

            Enjolras stood and watched him firmly close the door to their room.

            “He’s high.”

            Jehan shrugged. “He usually is. And it’s not something we can do anything about right now.”

            Enjolras spun, shoulders thrown back, head high. “So, what-- we all enable him? Let him get away with popping some pills or doing a line of coke whenever he comes out with us?”

            Jehan took a step backward, into Courfeyrac, who stepped around him to put a hand on Enjolras’ arm. “Enj, cool it. Jehan’s right. We’re on vacation. We need to confront R about it, yeah, but maybe now isn’t the time.”

            “You always say that!” Enjolras pushed past Courfeyrac and began to pace between the kitchenette and the couches. “It’s been getting worse all year. You’re all just sitting by and coddling him while he-- he-- he destroys himself!”

            Enjolras turned to face the kitchenette again to find Jehan standing directly in front of him, brow furrowed. Enjolras managed to avoid flinching backward, but it was a near thing-- he’d never realized how much taller than him Jehan was until then.

            Jehan looked down at him. “Enjolras. Take a walk.”

            The door slammed behind Enjolras on his way out.

.

            Somehow, the group managed to get everyone together and into the cars by ten. After some deliberation, Musichetta made a quick detour into Old Forge and dropped Joly and Bossuet off to explore until the others were done with the hike.

            “I just don’t think it’d be good on my knees, you know?” Joly was holding tight to Bossuet’s hand, keeping an eye on him to make sure he didn’t trip over the curb as they exited the car. They let go of his hand once they had exited and Bossuet rushed over to look at the signs in front of the town’s movie theater across the lot they had parked in.

            “I understand, babe. We needed someone to keep him company, anyway,” Musichetta said, nodding in Bossuet’s direction.

            Joly watched Bossuet tumble onto the pavement, catching himself on his hands and knees and turning to shout “I’m alright!” at his partners by the car.

            “Yeah!” Joly grinned. “Well, at least now that us two aren’t gonna be there, you can avoid any potential injuries!”

            Musichetta smiled. “Right. You two have fun, okay?” She leaned out of the window to give Joly a peck on the cheek and hand them their cane and backpack, which they’d managed to leave on the passenger seat. “We’ll call you if we need anything. See you in a few hours!”

            Joly blushed at the kiss and nodded. “Yeah, see you in a few!” They waved at the car as Musichetta rolled up the window and drove away, turning up the music to drown out the sound of the banter between Grantaire and Jehan in the backseat.

.

_Group message: les amis de VACAY_

**Ferre** : Just so you all know, there’s a Pokestop at the church we’re about to pass on the right side of the road. If you slow down as you drive by you can probably get it.

 **Jehan** : thx!!! we’ll be sure to hit it up. Grantaire’s been out of pokeballs all day and he won’t stop whining about it.

 **R** : fuck off

 **Ferre** : Courf is screaming because he’s driving and can’t get it.

 **Ep** : @dreamteam y did u guys pull over

 **Ep** : guys

 **Ep** : fckg

 **Ep** : @memeteam do u know whats going on?

 **R** : no clue

 **Ep** : ok we’re also pulling over i s2g if someone is sick

 **CourfeyRAD** : u GUYS THOUGHT U COULD KEEP ME FROM THE POKEBALLS I DESERVE

 **CourfeyRAD** : ok got em we can all get back on the road again

 **Enjolras:** i hate all of you

 **Babehorel:** shut up you were freaking out literally 2 minutes ago about that pidgey

.

            The mountain itself was not a particularly arduous challenge. It wasn’t a high peak, and the hike up and down was, according to the internet, easily completed in about two hours. Even though the group contained several members who weren’t in peak physical condition, they figured it couldn’t take too long, especially with most of them buzzing from energy from coffee, energy drinks, and in one case, cocaine.

            They reached the peak a little after noon. Courfeyrac, leading the pack, was the first to see it.

            “Guys! There’s a tower!”

            His shouting was audible even to the very back of the line, where Combeferre and Enjolras were bringing up the rear.

            Combeferre, wiping a sheen of sweat off his forehead, turned to Enjolras. “Didn’t I tell him about the observation tower less than a minute ago?”

            “You did. But, you know, I’m pretty sure he never outgrew his explorer phase, so he’s gotta pretend he found it himself.”

            Combeferre grinned. “Remember that field journal he kept? With the made up stories about his discoveries?”

            “How could I forget it? He brought it everywhere in middle school.”

            Both blinked as they emerged from the wooded trail into the bright sun of the rocky clearing at the peak.

            “He still keeps it under his pillow,” Combeferre said.

            “Oh my god.” Grinning, Enjolras took a swig from his water bottle. “Does he still write in it?”

            Combeferre nodded, and they both turned to watch with matching smiles as Courfeyrac scrambled up the rickety metal observation tower.

            Cosette and Bahorel had beat him to the top, and Marius was looking up the metal staircase with an expression of pure terror. He jumped when Grantaire came from behind him and patted his shoulder on his way to the base of the tower, but he didn’t make it far before Eponine grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled him back to the ground.

            “Nuh uh. We’re keeping you away from anything tall. And the edges. And any particularly threatening rocks.” She sat him down on the most sturdy, innocent-looking rock around. “In fact, we probably shouldn’t have brought you along at all.”

            Grantaire grinned at her through his sunglasses and the bandana he had tied around his forehead to keep his curls out of his face. “What, afraid I’m gonna jump off the tower? That’s thoughtful of you, but really not my style.”

            “Not even fucking funny. I’m talking about the fact that you’re high. You’re fucking reckless when you’re high.”

            “What can I say-- I like to live life--” he motioned to the edge of the peak a few yards away, where the rocks dropped off in a formidable cliff face, “--on the edge.”

            “Also not funny.”

            He tugged at the hem of her denim cutoffs to pull her onto the rock next to himself. “You okay? You seem kinda pissy.”

            “Sick of babysitting you.”

            “No, I mean other than that. Did you and Cosette fight?”

            Eponine reached over and unzipped Grantaire’s backpack, taking out his metal water bottle, unscrewing the top and sniffing it. “What? No-- did she say we fought?”

            “Nah. You’re the one who’s acting like you fought, not her. Also, that’s not water.”

            “Yeah, I figured.” She took a swig. “I don’t know. I don’t want to be acting weird around her. Tell me if I’m acting weird.”

            “You’re acting weird.”

            She flipped him off. “Fuck off, that’s not what I meant. I just-- she’s acting like nothing is wrong.”

            “People generally do that when they’re not fighting.”

            “Maybe we should be fighting!” She finished off the bottle and slid it back in his bag. “After all these years I find her again and she’s acting like I didn’t do anything to her, R. And I did! I fucking tortured her.”

            “I mean, I know it’s not a total excuse, but you were like, eight. You didn’t know any different.”

            “I still bullied the fuck outta her. She may seem like an angel, but she’s a person. She’s gotta resent me for it.”

            “It’s been a long time. She’s probably come to terms with it. Maybe she sees you as sorta a familiar reminder of childhood innocence, or something? Or maybe, like, she knows that people change and you’re really fucking different now, so she’s starting over with being friends with you.”

            Neither spoke for a moment, until Grantaire straightened up and elbowed Eponine.

            “Did you just call her an angel?”

            “R.”

            “You did! You totally did!” He narrowed his eyes. “You have a crush on her, don’t you?”

            Eponine swore under her breath, hoping that she was sunburnt enough that the blush she could feel warming her cheeks wouldn’t stand out. She reached out and grabbed the front of Grantaire’s shirt. “I don’t. You tell anyone that I do and I’m gonna rip off your dick and put it on a stake.”

            Grantaire crossed his legs and held up both hands in surrender. “Hell, I won’t! Leave Little R alone!”

            Eponine tugged his bandana down over his eyes and stood, deciding that it was now a good time to coax Marius onto the tower. “You’re safe for now.”

.

            “Hey, guys?” Courfeyrac was taking the steps two at a time back down to the bottom of the tower, followed closely by Cosette and Bahorel. “You see that shed over there?”

            “Does that count as a shed? I feel like it’s a level below shed. A hut, maybe.” Bahorel craned his neck to see the building better.

            Cosette slipped in front of Courfeyrac, reaching the bottom of the stairs first and walking on over to it. “Nah, it’s made out of concrete. Huts aren’t concrete. It’s more of an… unspecified humanmade structure.”

            “Okay, structure, whatever.” Courfeyrac followed behind Cosette and walked around the perimeter of the building, checking its height and giving it a kick to test its strength. “Now, I know you two may not be as familiar as I am with the art of parkour, but--”

            “Oh, you want to do a cat leap?” Cosette interrupted, giving the building a kick as well, nodding in approval. “Yeah, this would be good for that. As long as the roof is sturdy.

            Courfeyrac grinned. “I looked at it from the top of the tower. Seems like nice, undamaged wood.”

            Bahorel was already getting his phone out and opening up vine. “Nice until you get a splinter the size of a pickaxe.” He brandished the phone, finger poised to film.

            “Well, good thing I brought my parkour gloves.” Courfeyrac retrieved the gloves from his backpack and set it on the ground before checking his shoelaces and backing up and getting ready for his sprint up to the building. “Okay, on the count of three!”

            He counted down, sprinted, and clung to the side of the building for a moment before pulling himself up and promptly falling through the roof.

.

           

            “Hey, guys?” Feuilly put one hand each on Enjolras and Combeferre’s backs, turning them around from where they were facing the edge of the mountain to admire the view. “Sorry to interrupt a nature experience, but I’m pretty sure that’s one of ours screaming over there.”

            Within seconds, Combeferre had scanned the clearing and searched for their group members among the various hikers lounging there. Sure enough, three were missing-- likely the culprits involved in whatever sort of commotion was going on in the shed near the observation tower.

            “Shit.” He jogged over and felt his blood ran cold when he heard the screaming coming from the building. He’d recognize that screaming anywhere. Well-- usually it was in the context of a bedroom, but still. There was no mistaking Courfeyrac’s voice, muffled by a concrete wall and tears.

.

            All in all, the group was up on the mountain for nearly five hours, most of which were spent first waiting for a park ranger to come unlock the door to the shed (since Combeferre decided it wouldn’t be a good idea to try to remove Courfeyrac through the roof, what with the severe pain he was describing), then half an hour of Combeferre checking his boyfriend from head to toe to make sure he could be moved without risking more injury, and then several slow hours of Combeferre and Bahorel each hooking an arm under Courfeyrac’s shoulders to walk him down the mountain so he didn’t have to put any weight on his ankle, which was swelling more and more by the minute. Even so, after his initial shock, he managed to tough through the entire walk down, running purely on adrenaline and jokes about his own foolishness.

            When they finally reached the parking lot at the base of the mountain, Enjolras and Combeferre agreed to drive Courfeyrac to the closest hospital an hour away while the others piled into Cosette and Jehan’s cars to pick up Joly and Bossuet and head back to the lake.

            Everything finally seemed to be coming to order once Combeferre settled Courfeyrac in the backseat and took his seat by the wheel, next to Enjolras in the passenger seat.

            “Buckle,” he reminded Enjolras, who rolled his eyes and reached for his seatbelt.

            “Hey, t’hy’la--” he paused at the sound of a harsh sniffle and turned to see Courfeyrac freeze as he realized Combeferre was watching him break into a sob. Combeferre deflated. “Courf, I swear it’s gonna be okay. We’ll get you in there to check out your ankle and they’ll get the swelling down and then we can head back to the cottage. We can watch a movie when we get back, or just cuddle-- whatever you want.”

            Courfeyrac drew in a shuddery breath. “I’m gonna be on crutches for orientation, aren’t I?”

            Combeferre didn’t see the point in lying to him. He was fairly certain the ankle was broken, so he nodded. “But as long as you stay off it, I’m sure you’ll make a full recovery.”

            “It’s not gonna be better by tryouts.”

            Combeferre bit his lip. Courfeyrac was obsessed with his intramural soccer team. Truly, he didn’t know if Courfeyrac’s ankle would be back in normal condition by September. He opened his mouth to answer, then closed it.

            Enjolras, thankfully, came to the rescue, leaving the passenger seat and joining Courfeyrac in the backseat. He carefully moved Courfeyrac and sat down, gently guiding him to lie down with his head on Enjolras’ lap. He combed his fingers through Courfeyrac’s curls.

            “Hey, did I ever show you that podcast I found last month?” He pulled out his phone and softly explained the plot to Courfeyrac while Combeferre drove on, crying silently in the driver seat.

.

            The others had been back at the cottage for several hours when Bahorel unlocked his phone and realized he had recorded the entire incident.

            “Hey, should I post this?” He nudged Feuilly, who was leaning into his lap while the entire group watched House of Cards on Musichetta’s laptop.

            “Wha?” Feuilly shook his head to rouse himself-- after the whirlwind of a day, he was exhausted, and had just been dozing off. He blinked at Bahorel’s phone. “Is that Courf parkouring?”

            “Trying to, more like.”

            “Ask him first.”

            “Okay.”

            After a brief exchange of texts, the vine was posted to Courfeyrac’s account, and had several thousand loops within an hour. Courfeyrac’s parkour reputation was, surprisingly, intact.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Silly kids, weed isn't legal in New York state! I swear they're not usually this flippant about legality (surprisingly)-- weed is legal in DC, so usually it's fine for those of the group who enjoy it. Additional tags have been added for drug use. Thanks, R. And thanks to the rest of them for being enablers (they're young and inexperienced and they don't know how to deal with his problem).  
> Spanish translations  
> Mierda: "shit!"  
> Vete a la mierda: along the lines of "screw you"  
> Bonus Vulcan translation  
> T'hy'la: friend, brother, lover. A Vulcan term of endearment. Combeferre is a ridiculous Trek nerd.


	5. Thursday | Rainy day, or, an interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the disaster of the hike the day before, everyone needs a relaxed day to recover and rest. This is that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a short chapter, because yesterday's was very long. However, the action isn't over yet! Tomorrow's chapter will feature some pretty wild reveals, so this is a little bit of a calm before the storm. Even though this chapter happens during a rainstorm. But I digress.

The triumvirate arrived back at the lake cottage shortly before midnight. Combeferre was a wreck, Courfeyrac was a wreck with a cast on his right ankle, and Enjolras was a wreck being sustained by the four cups of coffee he had chugged before leaving the hospital. All three of them collapsed onto the big bed in Combeferre and Courfeyrac’s room and fell asleep tangled together.

            In the next room over, Grantaire climbed onto his bunk and managed to fall asleep quickly for the first time all week. He dreamed, unsurprisingly, of Enjolras, and woke up to a rainy morning feeling gross for having done so. Gross enough to convince him to shower, even.

            He padded into the living room to find Feuilly, Jehan, and Cosette awake and watching the news on the couch.

            “Hey, losers.”

            “Hey, asshat.” Cosette nodded in the direction of the coffeemaker. “Want a cup?”

            “Maybe after my shower. Save me a spot in your cuddle pile.”

            “You got it.”

            For a few minutes, the only sound in the living room was the rain beating down on the roof, since they had muted the television and turned on the closed captioning.

            Then, the sound of a weak spray of water and a yelp from the bathroom. “Fucking hell, no one told me that the shower only spits out ice water!”

            “Oh my god.” Jehan set his coffee down on the floor in front of the couch, making eye contact with Feuilly and gently tapping his ear. Feuilly turned on his hearing aids.

Jehan continued. “You don’t think this is the first time he’s used the shower here, do you?”

            Feuilly snorted. “Did you smell him yesterday? I think it’s very likely.”

            He leaned forward to finish off the braid he was doing in Cosette’s hair while Jehan unfolded his legs and rose from the couch, gently tapping on the bathroom door.

            “Grantaire? Please tell me you’ve showered in the past five days.”

            A pause. “Ha, funny story about that.”

            Jehan’s responding screech woke the entire cottage.

.

            Despite doing her very best to ignore the commotion going on in the living room, Eponine was stirred from her attempts to go back to sleep by a hand on her shoulder. She flinched and grabbed the wrist in a vice grip before realizing that it was only Marius.

            “Christ. Warn me next time.”

            “I’m sorry.” He looked like a kicked puppy, and she almost took back her attitude. Almost.

            “Did you need something?”

            “No, I just wanted to know if you were awake.”

            This, somehow, made Eponine’s chest feel even more weird. She mentally translated his answer to something along the lines of ‘I was lonely.’

            “But-- if you don’t want to be awake, that’s okay.”

            “No, I’m awake now.”

            Marius didn’t answer, and she realized that it was raining hard, the drops clearly audible on the roof and against the window. She squinted at Marius through the dim light. “Hey, is the noise bothering you?”

            “No, it’s okay.”

            “Alright. Wanna sit?” She patted the rumpled sheets beside herself and Marius sat next to her, placing his jumpy hands into his lap.

            Eponine gently pushed down on his shoulder until he was lying next to her and held out her hands, smiling softer than she had in a long time as he took them and began to curl and uncurl her fingers, over and over, until both of them dozed off again.

.

            “Courf.”

            “Ngggfh.”

            “Courf.”

            “Blgg.”

            “Courf, you have to get up so you can take your painkillers.”

            “Well, okay, then!” Courfeyrac sat straight up, hair sticking in every direction. “Why didn’t you say so sooner?” He made grabby hands for the pills Combeferre had resting in his palm.

            “I did. But you were covering your ears and shouting into your pillow, so I don’t think you heard.”

            “Oh.” Courfeyrac took the pills and the glass of water Combeferre offered, looking sheepish. “Sorry. I know I’m being a brat.”

            “It’s okay to be upset about this.”

            “Is it really? Because it’s not even that major of an injury. And it was my own fault. I shouldn’t be crying and feeling sorry for yourself when other people have it a shit ton worse.”

            Combeferre settled down next to his boyfriend and pulled him close. “You’re right, it was your fault, but that’s okay. You learned a lesson for next time.” He pressed a chaste kiss to Courfeyrac’s temple. “And it’s fine to be emotional about it.”

            “I just can’t stop thinking about how I’m just going to be stuck on crutches all summer. I won’t be able to go for walks or look for Pokemon or go clubbing or play frisbee and I’ll just be stuck inside all day and I can’t do that, I can’t fucking do that, Ferre! And-- and.”

            Combeferre kissed him quickly on the lips.  “Courf. Deep breaths.”

            Courf inhaled, shaky. “Fuck.”

            “You’ll be able to leave the apartment. You just have to be careful not to put weight on your ankle. I’ll take you out every day to look for Pokemon if you want, okay?”

            Courfeyrac sniffled. “Even if it’s raining?” He nodded at the window, where heavy raindrops were pattering against the glass.

            “Yeah, of course.” Combeferre kissed him again before pulling Courfeyrac close and letting him rest his head on Combeferre’s chest. He combed his fingers through Courfeyrac’s hair and smiled at the happy little sounds he made in response.

            Courfeyrac was an emotional person. It wasn’t a surprise that he was crying about this. What made Combeferre’s heart ache, however, was the complete terror in Courfeyrac’s voice when he talked about being home alone for days on end. Sure, he was an extrovert through and through and thrived on interaction with others, but this was kind of extreme, wasn’t it?

Combeferre wasn't a fool. He knew Courfeyrac wasn't doing as well as he let on. He just wasn't quite sure if now was a good time to confront him about it.

.

            Joly jumped when the screen door of the cottage opened without warning with a loud creak. They put a hand over their heart to calm it and watched Grantaire exit the building and sit on the porch swing next to them.

            Grantaire was silent for a moment, watching the rain and clutching at his coffee mug.

            Joly looked him up and down, biting their lip. “Are you okay?”

            “Dunno. Kind of crashed last night.”

            “Any more problems with Enjolras?”

            Grantaire snorted. “Do we ever not have problems?”

            “New problems, I mean.”

            “Nothing new. He was mad I was high, but I can’t really blame him.” He took a gulp of his coffee. “I stole one of his dumb American flag shirts and he lectured me for half an hour about how maybe the reason I don’t understand the cause is because I don’t have an appreciation for how bad civil rights and freedom of speech can be if we don’t fight to protect them.”

            “God.” Joly reached for Grantaire’s coffee mug and took a sip before returning it. “He’s… he’s made a lot of assumptions about you. It’s weird. He’s usually so good about not assuming things about people.”

            “Yeah.” Grantaire examined a suspicious stain on the sleeve of his hoodie. “Sometimes I kinda wish he knew, you know? I kinda wish everyone knew. I just want to scream it at him sometimes.”

            “You could tell them.”

            “Nah, I really can’t. It’s just a thought, you know? I wouldn’t actually want to deal with all the repercussions.”

            “I think you underestimate us.”

            “I underestimate everyone.”

            “Not him. You still put up with him even with all that BS.”

            Grantaire smiled, bitter. “He’s always the damn exception.”

            Joly decided to end the conversation before it could get lost on the path of Enjolras adoration and Grantaire’s self deprecation. “Hey-- me, Combeferre, and Jehan were planning on going hunting for cryptids later in the woods across the road. Wanna come?”

            “In the rain?”

            “Rain doesn’t stop Bigfoot.”

            “Okay, okay. I’ll be there.”

.

            Evening found most everyone settled down in the living room watching reruns of _Friends_. Courfeyrac and Marius had cuddled up on the couch while some of the group had gone out in the rain. They came back just as Cosette and Bahorel were finishing the massive pot of spaghetti they had made for dinner, and everyone settled around with paper bowls and plastic forks while they ate. Even Enjolras was convinced that he needed to stop checking his laptop for emails from the senator’s office he was interning at in order to eat some dinner. Grantaire, Joly, Jehan, and Combeferre were all sent to the corner of the room opposite the couch, where they could drip onto towels spread on the floor without getting anyone else wet with their waterlogged clothes and hair.

            As soon as they finished their bowl, Joly tapped Combeferre’s shoulder. “Hey, we should probably change into dry stuff. Grantaire’s already sniffling.”

            “Am not,” Grantaire said, almost immediately cut off by a sneeze.

            “Right, good thinking.” Combeferre stood and helped Joly up, leaving Jehan and Grantaire to fight over the dry towel he’d had on his lap while he was sitting. “Both of you. Dry clothes. Now.”

            “Okay, dad.” Grantaire smirked as he stood.

            “Don’t call my boyfriend dad,” Courfeyrac said from across the room.

            Grantaire’s carefully postured grin didn’t leave his face until he was safely in the dim hallway and out of view from everyone. He locked himself in his room while Jehan proceeded to his own and Joly followed Combeferre to the master bedroom.

            “Hey, Ferre?”

            “Yeah?”

            “Where are we going tomorrow, again?”

            Combeferre turned to raise an eyebrow at Joly in what seemed like a perfect imitation of Leonard Nimoy’s Spock. It was kind of hot.

            “Hey,” Joly, lacking a filter, leaned against the doorframe, “that looked like a perfect imitation of Leonard Nimoy’s Spock. It was kind of hot.”

            “Thanks.” Combeferre retrieved a dry sweater from the dresser.

            “What did I do to deserve the eyebrow, though?”

            “Oh-- you clearly didn’t read the itinerary. I’m starting to think that no one did.”

            “Ah, yeah. I meant to, I swear! It just kind of slipped my mind.”

            Combeferre’s mouth lifted in the tiniest smile. “It’s fine. I know Enjolras appreciated it, at least.” He turned away while he stripped off his wet tshirt and put on the new one. “We’re driving up to Lake Placid tomorrow.”

            Joly stopped stretching over to see if they could see what books were in the pile on top of the dresser. “What-- the same place where the Winter Olympics were?”

            “Yeah. Once a really long time ago and then again in the 80s.”

            “Ah.” Joly bit down on the fingernails of their right hand. This was bad. Very bad. Bad news.

            “Yeah, you can walk around the ski and snowboard trails, and visit the ice rink, and there’s a whole big museum about Winter Olympic events.”

            “Right.”

            Combeferre turned. “You alright?”

            “I’m fine. I just-- yeah, I should have read the itinerary.” They turned and fled the room before Combeferre could say anything else.

            Outside, the rain continued.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, strange mysteries are afoot! What's up with Lake Placid?? What's up with Grantaire's secrets??? All will soon be revealed.  
> So, fun fact about this series: as of yesterday morning, I had no clue which character(s) my next work in the series would focus on, or what the major plot points would be. Then I had a few ideas and ended up staying up very late and outlined almost an entire series and wow, it's gonna be wild. So stay tuned for more! The plan for upcoming will be revealed at the end of the last chapter of this story.  
> No Spanish translations today, for once!!!  
> Shameless self promo: I'm on tumblr!! Check it out over at @egaliteoulamort


	6. Friday | A blast from the past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get political.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this chapter includes the scene that inspired most of this story! Hope you like it!

Joly meant to say something to Grantaire about their destination on Friday morning. Really, they did. It was the first item on their list of things to do.

            However, everything in the universe seemed to be preventing it from happening. Firstly, Bossuet slipped in the shower and needed urgent care kissing his scraped knee better. Then Joly managed to get distracted coming up with breakfast-related raps with Cosette while the two flipped pancakes. After that there was a whole debacle where their cane disappeared and they spent about twenty minutes tearing the cottage apart searching for it and-- well, basically, talking to Grantaire slipped their mind until they got into the car.

            At that point, however, saying anything to him would mean saying it in front of Jehan, Bossuet, and Musichetta. Joly trusted all of them to be understanding, but they knew Grantaire didn’t necessarily have the same level of trust, even in his best friends.

            It was looking like Joly would have to tell Grantaire by text. They turned to nudge Grantaire to get him to take out his phone and very quickly realized that he was sound asleep, head resting on Musichetta’s shoulder while he snored. Joly lifted a hand to shake Grantaire’s shoulder and was met with a glare from their girlfriend.

            “Nope, let him nap now so he’s not grumpy later,” she said, gentle.

            “Ay ay ay.” Joly put their head in their hands. “He’s going to be grumpy no matter what.”

.

            Enjolras and Feuilly spent the entire two hour drive in the front seat making sure that Courfeyrac’s attempts to commandeer the aux cord were foiled. In retaliation, they played two solid hours of NPR. When they noticed that everyone in the backseat had dozed off after an hour, Enjolras pulled over and switched seats with Feuilly.

            “Are you sure he won’t be mad?” Feuilly nodded in Combeferre’s direction.

            “I doubt he’ll wake up-- he was up late with Courf. And even if he does, he’s not actually going to make you stop. You’re a safe driver. He just didn’t want you to drive when he’d already banned Bahorel from driving. Because that would seem like favoritism.”

            Feuilly shrugged and pointed to Enjolras’ seatbelt, waiting for him to buckle up before he put the car into drive. “I suppose I get that. And it would be kind of sucky if we got pulled over by cops and they realized that the driver doesn’t have a license.”

            “Right, like the cops are going to pull over a white guy who drives exactly the speed limit.”

            “That’s fair.”

            They paused to listen to the interviewee who had just started speaking on the radio. Enjolras pulled his legs up onto the seat and crossed them, leaning his forehead against the window and staring out. Everything seemed just a bit greener and more lush after the steady rain the day before, which had stopped sometime during the night. The clouds had cleared during the morning, leaving a clear blue sky and a perfect cool breeze for their drive.

            While Enjolras personally didn’t have much interest in the Olympics, other than some knowledge of the politics involved in them, he figured the museum would at least be somewhat interesting. Maybe.

.

            Grantaire and Joly fell behind the rest of the group as they approached the entrance to the museum once they were in Lake Placid.

            “Joly. No. No. Why are we here?”

            “It’s a local attraction! I tried to warn you but you were sleeping.”

            “I can’t. Fuck. Why’d I use up my whole fucking stash yesterday? Shoulda known I’d need something today.”

            Joly shook their head and decided to ignore Grantaire blatantly admitting he was high during the hike. It probably wasn’t the best thing to confront him about while he was freaking out. “Listen, you don’t have to come into the museum. We can hang out in town and get coffee or something.” They considered slinging an arm around Grantaire’s shoulder and decided against it, not wanting to crowd him while he was clearly having a hard enough time walking and breathing and talking.

            “Nope nope nope, then everyone will be wondering why I couldn’t go to museum. I’m fucked either way. I’ll go.” He spoke very quickly and shakily, then shook his head resolutely. “I have to.”

            “Okay. If you need to leave, tell me and I’ll come outside with you.”

            “Fine.”

            They caught up with the group at the front desk and quickly re-entered the conversation, which was a debate about whether or not they should attempt a trip to a ski resort the next winter.

            “Like I said, that’s the most upper class bullshit I’ve ever heard,” Feuilly said, leading the way through the large building, stopping briefly to examine a display about the Olympic Committee. “And it was hard enough getting time off for this vacation. I don’t think I can request off for another trip so soon.”

            “That’s probably for the best. Only a few of us can ski, anyways.” Combeferre stopped in front of a large staircase leading up into the ice rink and glanced back at Courfeyrac, who was showing off how he could hop around on in circles on his crutches. “Okay, I’m sure we can find an elevator.”

            Joly pointed down the hall. “It’s a little ways back there. Already checked. I can--”

            Courfeyrac stopped his spinning. “Oh, I don’t need to go up to look at the rink. I’ve seen _Miracle on Ice,_ like, a thousand times. Grantaire and I are gonna go ahead to the museum while you guys do that.”

            Grantaire was jerked out of his reverie staring up at the staircase and growing increasingly pale when he heard his name. “What? We are?”

            Courfeyrac shot him a poorly disguised look, which Combeferre elected to ignore. After all, Courfeyrac was better at reading people. He probably had good reasons to take Grantaire with him.

            “Alright. We’ll be along soon.” Combeferre joined the others on the staircase while Joly and Bossuet backtracked to take the elevator.

            Grantaire finally managed to tear his gaze away from the staircase. “You know.”

            “Yeah. I won’t tell anyone.”

            “Thanks, man.” Grantaire leaned over to sip from a water fountain located next to the entry to the museum section of the building.

            “No problem.” Courfeyrac made it over to the doorway. “Come on, let’s see if they have anything about bobsleds. Those things are hilarious.”

            “Okay.”

.

            Unsurprisingly, it was Enjolras who ruined Grantaire’s many years of careful lying and evasion with three words.

            The ice rink had been disappointingly boring-- after all, it was just an empty slab of ice surrounded by a stadium. The group spent about ten minutes walking its perimeter before deciding it was about time to head down to the museum.

            The museum itself had various displays about different events, with artifacts ranging from skis from past Olympians to old Team USA uniforms. While the others crowded into a bobsled on display to take pictures, Enjolras found himself drawn to a small display tucked into a corner behind a display of yellowed posters advertising the 1932 Games. The display in question consisted of a few sets of skates from recent Olympians, a wall with photos of famous skaters, and a small flatscreen TV playing a short film about the sport.

            Enjolras leaned against the wall while he listened to the narrator progress from early 20th century competitors to Cold War-era rivalries, letting his eyes drift shut. God, he was tired.

            _“But perhaps the most greatest recent disasters in the figure skating world came not from a tragedy on the ice, but rather a dangerous political situation in the nation considered to be one of the sport’s main powerhouses.”_

Enjolras’ eyes opened at the mention of politics, and he blinked to rid the dryness in his contacts while he focused on the screen, watching a young man-- no, a kid, slim and dressed in a tight blue costume, no older than fourteen or fifteen-- skate out onto the ice.

            _“Although many Americans are aware of claims of corruption involving Russia’s government, few know the full extent of the repercussions political opponents face. For years, dissidents have been known to be arrested for arbitrary reasons, die of mysterious poisoning circumstances, or even disappear entirely.”_

The skater onscreen executed a spin, curly hair whipping around his head. Enjolras didn’t know much about skating, but it sure looked impressive.

            “ _Those who publicly oppose or even are vaguely critical of the government often face severe consequences. Examples include journalist Anna Politkovskaya, shot and killed in 2006 in Moscow; Alexander Litvinenko, longtime critique of the Kremlin, poisoned later in 2006 after fleeing to England._

Enjolras had heard of these-- while he wasn’t an International Relations major like some of his friends, he’d taken several classes involving world politics, and liked to keep up on current human rights violations across the world. He squinted at the screen, where images of murdered Russians had faded away to show the skater finishing his routine and bowing to the judges.

            _“While these tragedies have not been directly connected to the Kremlin or President Vladimir Putin, many have their suspicions that they were orchestrated by the members of the Russian government. These suspicions only continued with the tragedy involving young figure skater Dmitry Sergeivich Mikhailov.”_

            The skater’s name appeared on screen while he stooped down to pick up a flower that had been thrown onto the ice. Unsurprisingly, he was the boy described by the narrator.

            _“By the time of the 2008 World Junior Figure Skating Championship in Bulgaria, shown here, Mikhailov was rapidly gaining attention on and off the ice. At only 15 years old he was quickly becoming a beloved athlete in Russia and abroad. Trained by an American coach who had moved to his home city of Moscow to help him, Mikhailov was becoming one of the most technically flawless skaters in the history of the sport. Fans and rivals alike called him a prodigy, and he was expected to bring Russia gold in the 2010 Vancouver Olympics.”_

The camera switched to another rink, where the same skater was somewhat older and completing a routine with a partner, both dressed in black. Enjolras stepped closer.

            _“Unfortunately, he was soon to be tangled up in a dangerous political web. The figure skater’s father, Sergei Mikhailov, was a longtime opponent of the Kremlin. He belonged to a rival political party and, by 2009, was reported to be working with several journalists on a story involving human rights violations in the Chechen conflict. Despite receiving several threats from unknown sources over the years, the elder Mikhailov continued his work alongside his Ukrainian wife, Tatyana Romanenko, who was also a journalist.”_

Mikhailov lifted his partner and the video seemed to slow for a second as she smiled down at him before landing and following him as he executed an impressive leap. Again, the audience cheered, and the judges displayed their scores.

            _“In 2009, two days after Dmitry Mikhailov qualified for the 2010 Winter Olympics, he disappeared in Moscow after a practice with his coach. After three days of minimal help from the authorities and frantic searching across the city, he was discovered behind a dumpster several blocks from his home, badly bruised and beaten, with a note warning his father that trouble was coming.”_

The video switched back to the first clip of a younger Dmitry, picking up a rose and presenting it to one of the judges. The camera shot switched, for the first time, to a close up of his face.

            _“A week later, Sergei Mikhailov was found dead inside his home, poisoned by the same radioactive Polonium that killed Litvinenko. His wife and children are reported to have left Russia shortly after, and many speculate that they fled to the United States and assumed new lives under different names. What is certain, however, is that Dmitry Mikhailov, figure skating’s most promising young star, did not compete at the Vancouver Games, and in fact never returned to the ice again.”_

The camera showed Dmitry grinning wide at the table of judges, almost a smirk-- not necessarily flippant, but playful.

            Enjolras would recognize that smirk anywhere.

            “I competed here once, you know. Not a major event-- just a small one that my coach got me to do. She was here in 1980. I think she wanted an excuse to come back; relive her glory days.”

            Enjolras spun around, glanced back at the boy on TV, and back to Grantaire, and said, much louder than he intended, “It was you.”

            Grantaire smiled. It didn’t reach his eyes. He slipped away as Bahorel and Feuilly followed Enjolras’ outburst, quickly followed by the rest of the group.

            On the screen was Dmitry Mikhailov. He was younger, clean-shaven, much thinner, and looked a lot brighter and healthier and happier than they had ever seen, but he was also undeniably their friend Dmitry Grantaire.

            Enjolras turned to watch Grantaire walk out of the museum while the others realized what had happened, and followed him out soon after.

            (Enjolras felt a little bit like he was being stabbed in the chest when he remembered his fight with Grantaire earlier in the week)

            (Grantaire felt nothing, once they drove back to the lake and he got drunk enough to forget his own name—old one and new one)

            (Everyone else? Try as they might to take it in stride, they knew things would be different now that they knew)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone I could thought I was finally capable of writing something without throwing in Russian characters/politics... well, you were mistaken.  
> The referenced incidences involving Anna Politkovskaya and Alexander Litvinenko are both true stories, and there are countless other similar events that suggest the Kremlin is out to eliminate dissenters, which includes journalists, rival political leaders, etc. However, Sergei Mikhailov and Grantaire's story are entirely fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental.  
> They are not coincidental, however, for the story, and certain aspects of R's history will definitely appear in the future in this series.  
> Additionally: Grantaire's Tragic Backstory (TM) is not meant to excuse him behaving like an asshole. He's definitely just an asshole because of who he is as a person. However, it is meant to give him some depth and explain the origin of his lack of faith in political activism and refusal to have any sort of hope for humanity (other than Enjolras).  
> Finally, just a note that I am!! Really unhappy with this chapter!!! This is the one I feel flows the worst out of all of them!! But if I don't post it now, it'll never go up. So, I'm sorry!


	7. Saturday | Lake day part deux

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter. The vacation comes to a close, and our gang returns to DC.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! Thanks to everyone who's stayed with this fic all week! Special shoutout to everyone who put up with all of my rambling while I was researching and writing this fic-- namely: Ivy and everyone else on the chatzy who offered advice, Christin, Lily Rose, Skye (I'm pretty sure I wouldn't shut up about this story the day we made pizza), as well as the members of the Les Amis Vines group who had to deal with me spamming the group chat talking about this fic. Thank you all!  
> See the end notes for the future of this series!

_Group message: momchat_

**Cosette:** so r we going to talk about the elephant in the room or

 **Chetta:** nope

 **Ferre:** I mean, on the one hand, he clearly didn’t want us to know. On the other hand, now he literally won’t stop teaching Courfeyrac swears in Russian. So.

 **Cosette:** hopefully that means this will resolve itself, then. I mean, we already knew he was a good dancer and everything, so this figure skating isn’t that much of a surprise.

 **Ferre:** I suppose. Courf says he already knew.

 **Chetta** : ya, because he Facebook stalks everyone he meets

 **Ferre:** It’s endearing, not creepy. I swear.

 **Chetta:** I know. But I digress. I think Enjolras feels really guilty about being the one to find out.

 **Ferre:** He does.

 **Cosette:** honestly, it was going to happen eventually. He shouldn’t be too hard on himself for it. And like I’ve always said-- this just goes to show that they’re more similar than they think.

 **Chetta:** true. Also: can we talk about how good R’s English is?

 **Cosette:** really good. I mean, he moved here in what, 2009? So he’s had a while to learn

 **Ferre:** I never noticed an accent at all. He’s very good at picking up languages.

 **Cosette:** I did. When he’s really drunk it’s the tiniest bit noticeable.

 **Chetta:** well, leave it to the IR student to notice. But yeah. His coach was American so he learned English fairly early on, and got better once he moved here

 **Ferre:** Huh. Interesting.

 **Chetta:** Also, unrelated, but Zette, i like your reaction in the vine of Courfeyrac falling into the roof

 **Ferre:** Wait-- you watched him do it?

 **Cosette:** Ferre hon sometimes you gotta do things for the vine

 **Ferre:** You leT MY BOYFRIEND BREAK HIS LEG???

**_Ferre_ ** _has removed **Cosette** from the group._

**Chetta:**  u know if u remove someone everytime they do something immature this chat is gonna disappear real quick

.

            “Hey. Coffee?”

            Grantaire looked up from where he was sat at the end of the dock, bare feet hanging over the side, gently splashed every few seconds with gentle waves. He considered refusing, but, well. Coffee. He reached for the mug and was surprised when Enjolras sat down next to him.

            “Sorry. About what I said.” He was struggling with every word. “About you not appreciating the political freedoms of this country and stuff.”

            “Enjolras.”                                                                                                                             

            “I mean, I shouldn’t have assumed you were born and raised here. It was really shitty of me and I guess I need to stop enforcing my ideas of how every citizen needs to be on people who don’t have the same priorities as me.”

            “Enj.”

            “And I’m sorry I yelled at you for not being registered to vote. I totally get that now. But, you know, a lot of the campus political groups have resources for becoming a citizen, and obviously we won’t be able to make anything happen by this year’s election, but maybe we can get you in by the next midterm election.”

            Grantaire rolled his eyes, fondly. And their friends thought he was the one with a tendency to babble-- clearly they had never heard Enjolras try to formulate an apology. “Apollo.”

            “And-- well, I just think that it’s really cool what your dad was doing for the sake of human rights, and I find it really inspiring, and if you ever wanted to talk about Russia as it relates to international peace concerns at a meeting, we could--”

            Grantaire set down the mug on the dock. “Oh, okay. Now I get it.” He continued even as Enjolras tried to keep talking, quickly shutting him up, “Now that I have some sort of relevance to the cause, you finally take interest in me. This is just typical.”

            “Okay, I know it might seem like that, but it was just a suggestion. I know it was probably traumatic for you, so--”

            “So what, you suddenly decide to be nice to me now that you pity me? I’m another sob story to sway people to realize that pursuit of freedom and justice and whatever other shit you’re preaching is important?”

            “Grantaire. I’m sorry. I’m just trying to apologize for before. I think it’s really brave--”

            “Oh, Grantaire!” Grantaire said, exaggerating his voice. “Wow, I thought you were a useless piece of shit before, but now I know that you’re a martyr like me, you might actually be a vaguely helpful piece of shit!”

            “Grantaire, shut the hell up!”

            Grantaire smirked. “There, that’s more like it. That’s the Enjolras voice I know and love.”

            “You know that’s not what I mean at all.” Enjolras ignored the strange feeling in his chest, back again and was silent for a moment while he composed himseld.  “I, um. Well. Hm. I. Youwerereallygoodatskatingandthecostumeswerekindofhot.”

            “Oh.”

            “Yeah.”

            “I mean, I was pretty good.”

            “I bet you still are.”

            “Why are you acting like you don’t hate me?”

            “I’ve never hated you. Except maybe a little when you set off the fire alarm at three in the morning freshman year.”

            “I mean, that’s fair. It was an accident, but totally fair.” Grantaire wiggled his bare toes in the water.

            “Well, I promise I’m over it now. It’s not you I don’t like. Just-- your attitude.”

            “See, that seems like more of a you problem.”

            “Grantaire.”

            “Enjolras.”

            Their eyes met while small waves softly broke against the side of the dock. A few ducks were floating closer to shore, and Enjolras finally tore his gaze away to glance at them. “You know, it’s nice talking to you without fighting.”

            “Yeah?”

            “Yeah. We should do it more often.”

            “Okay.”

.

            Eponine was the last to finish packing, which was entirely intentional. After all, now that she had spent the past few days thinking about it, the thing with Cosette was really fucking weird. So she decided the best course of action, obviously, would be to avoid the other girl for as long as possible.

            So there Eponine was, standing on the beach with her toes buried in the wet sand and sipping at a chipped glass cup of orange juice while she watched some ducks freaking out about fish or whatever it was ducks cared about. No point in trying to pack in the same room as Marius and Cosette-- it was hard enough concentrating when both of them were in the same room while sleeping, so there was no way she could handle both of them while awake and talking.

            “Hey, ‘Ponine! You gotta come in and pack-- we’re leaving in ten minutes!”

            Eponine jumped, unprepared for the loud shout. “Christ, Marius. You almost made me drop my OJ.”

            Marius skidded to a stop on the sand, frowning at her with those damn puppy dog eyes. “I’m sorry. But you need to pack so we can leave. We’re going to stop at the ice cream place in Inlet before we drive home.”

            “Alright, alright. I’ll be quick.” She handed her glass to him before returning back to the cottage to shove her changes of clothes into her ratty duffle bag. While everyone else gathered on the lakeshore to get ready for a group picture, she was attempting to zip up the bag. After tossing the bag onto the floor and stomping down on the clothes to squish them inside, she finally managed to get the zip closed.

            Eponine quickly slipped on her scuffed boots, tossed her bag into Cosette’s Bug, and sprinted down to the shore to jump onto Grantaire’s back before the timer on Combeferre’s camera went off.

            After half a dozen photos of various degrees of silliness, and some critical analysis by Courfeyrac to make sure they had the best angles and lighting possible, they all managed to agree on a few photos. Several of them were clearly sunburnt, Grantaire was half-hidden by Eponine’s hair while she piggybacked on him, and Bossuet’s eyes were closed in every photo, but they were good pictures. The group turned around for one last look at the lake before wandering back up to the cars, led by Combeferre.

            Jehan was the first to notice the monster ready to pounce from the top of the cottage as they all passed, and let out an ear-splitting screech. Chaos followed.

            Marius clamped his hands over his ears to muffle the sound and stumbled directly into Bossuet, who stumbled and sprawled onto the gravel driveway. Musichetta rolled her eyes and stepped in front of Joly, holding a hand out in front of them. The others backed up away from the building as the ‘sea monster’ Feuilly and Bahorel had created fell from the roof onto the ground below, tugged by a cord in the hands of no other than Combeferre.

            The unfortunate victim of the beast: Courfeyrac, who, though he had quickly figured out how to spin around on his crutches, still hadn’t mastered the art of using them to back up. The inflatable monster fell directly on top of him and he screeched while it bounced off his chest and hit the ground harmlessly.

            “COMBEFERRE!” He hollered, surprisingly staying upright.

            “Heh.” Combeferre dropped the cord, which led to a knot around the sea monster’s neck. “That worked out pretty nicely.”

            “You absolute nerd.” Courfeyrac gently kicked him with his uninjured leg before leaning up to kiss his cheek.

            “Dude!” Bahorel was examining both the monster and the roof. “How did you even get that up there?”

            Combeferre grinned. “I have my ways. Now, you all get in the cars while I bring the beach toys back inside. We really have to get moving if we want to get back to DC before evening.”

.

_Group message: momchat_

**_Ferre_ ** _has removed **Ferre** from the group._

**Chetta:** damn straight

.

            “Hey, Ep. Can I try yours?” Cosette nodded at Eponine’s ice cream cone, and damn, if Eponine could ever say no to those warm brown eyes and perfectly full lips and those freckles-- god, those freckles.

            Fuck. She really was in too deep. “Uh, yeah. Sure.” She handed over the cone and forced herself to duck her head to look away. Watching Cosette take a bite of her cookie dough ice cream might actually be the death of her.

            Cosette hummed appreciatively at the taste. “So, I was thinking.”

            “Makes sense. I hear smart people do that a lot.”

Eponine looked up just in time to see Cosette smiling at her, eyes crinkled. “Shush, you. I was thinking about you, I mean.”

“Oh?” Eponine was pretty sure she could feel her heart beating right out of her chest. Her pulse was pounding in her stomach and her ears and even her damn throat. Gross.

“And about how you’re avoiding me.”

“I’m not--”

“Yes, you are. Marius and I talked about it. You definitely are.”

Eponine set her jaw and held out her hand to take her ice cream back. Once she had taken it from Cosette, careful not to let their hands brush, she took a bite with the angriest expression she could maintain while eating ice cream. “Fine. Maybe I am.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” She looked up and furrowed her brow as Cosette leaned over and wiped at a smudge of ice cream on Eponine’s chin with her bare hand. Her skin was warm, almost hot. Eponine bit her lip to keep from making any movements she would regret later. Cosette narrowed her eyes at her and tilted her head, then spoke in a voice that Eponine had only heard her use while lecturing boys in Courfeyrac’s frat, and in presentations in class. It was low and clear.

“As soon as we get back to DC I’m taking you to lunch and we’re going to talk about it.”

            “Oh.” It wasn’t phrased as a question, so Eponine didn’t treat it as one.

            Cosette smiled and when she spoke again, the voice was gone. Christ. Eponine didn’t take she could take any more of it. “Good! So, how did you like the vacation?”

            Eponine grinned and offered Cosette her ice cream cone again. She wasn’t sure how long this easy peace would last. Would she go back to avoiding Cosette once they returned to the city of humidity, memorials, and political scandal? Maybe. But also, maybe not. “Honestly? It was a lot of fun.”

            “It sure was.”

.

            All thirteen stared out at the lakeshore a short walk away from the ice cream stand, watching the midday sun reflect off the dark water. All the ice creams had been finished.

            Courfeyrac was the first to break the silence. “Well. This vacation has been great and all, and I love you guys, but I’m really ready to get back to a city where there are actually Pokestops.”

            Enjolras nodded. “Yeah, I’m afraid of what’s going to happen if I leave the cesspool of corruption known as the Capitol Building alone for any longer.”

            “Yup.” Bahorel turned to head back to the cars. “Never thought I’d say this, but I actually miss all the lawyers in that damn city.

            “No, you don’t.” Feuilly punched Bahorel’s arm.

            Bahorel grinned. “I don’t.”

            They made it to the cars and Enjolras turned to look at the lake one last time, shielding his eyes from the sun with his hand. “Alright. Back to the district?”

            He was met with a chorus of “Back to the district!”

            And so they went.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all, folks!  
> Except it's not-- that's right, this series is nowhere near from over. What you can expect in the next month is the second story in this series, which right now is scheduled to be a long oneshot mainly featuring Cosette, Eponine, and Marius. This will both establish the dynamic for those three and serve as exposition for part three of this series: a VERY LONG multi-chapter fic that will be updated either weekly or bi-weekly (or something like that) this autumn. The entire thing is outlined and hopefully will be mostly written ahead of time. While it'll definitely include all of the characters, the main plot points will involve E/R, Courfeyrac, and Cosette.   
> While I intended this to be a fun and relaxed series based on actual realistic student life in DC, somehow, drama stuff has worked its way into the plot. Political scandal, espionage, and international relations, all in one fic! Wow! I'm just rolling with it.   
> I hope you all enjoy it! Thank you for all your comments, kudos, and support. Remember, I'm on tumblr as @egaliteoulamort, and you can send me any questions or comments there as well!

**Author's Note:**

> Spanish translations:  
> Oiga: sort of like "hey!" or "listen up!"  
> Chacho: shortened form of "muchacho," used a lot in Puerto Rico. Kind of similar to "bro"  
> Gafas: sunglasses  
> Gringo: a term usually used to refer to Americans who don't speak Spanish, usually white. Marius is biracial but he doesn't speak Spanish, so Ep feels the word applies (even though she herself was born in the US. but really. she just likes teasing Marius)  
> Mano: the word "hermano," or "brother," shortened. Also means something along the lines of "bro."
> 
> Any corrections from native speakers are welcome!!


End file.
